


the beat of my heart

by MooksMookin, spacegirlkj



Series: a song to them, a story to you [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Idols, Multi, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, hell yeah a cheesy popstar au, rated m for the absurd amount of crude humour via matsuhana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-09-26 13:11:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 82,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9898631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooksMookin/pseuds/MooksMookin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegirlkj/pseuds/spacegirlkj
Summary: Hinata didn't expect for his worries to shift from an ever looming future to how to avoid the camera, but it's only natural when you befriend the country's biggest boyband.Or, how Hinata Shouyou meets his idols seij-OH! and falls into the limelight he never thought to seek, and the love he never thought he'd find.





	1. i love your orange laughter

**Author's Note:**

> OHHHH MAN AM I READY FOR THIS!  
> so me and mooks (@mooksmookin) have been working on this au for months like mooks came up with this idea ages ago and now it is our CHILD i am so glad that theyve allowed me to write it. please check out their or my tumblr (spacegaykj.tumblr.com and mooksmookin.tumblr.com) for more drawings, discussions, and posts about this au.  
> AS YOU CAN SEE: this work is in a series. please subscribe to it as well as other stories will be posted!!!!!!  
> without further ado, i hope you enjoy~  
> fic title is a hillary duff song, chapter titles are all quotes by pablo neruada  
> this work beta'd by mooksmookin!

Sometimes, chance is all that dictates life. It’s how Hinata got into his university program despite nearly failing one of his classes, it’s how he was able to scramble upon a job at a coffee shop in his third year of high school, and it’s how he met his best friend, Kenma. It’s why his dream apartment was taken from him, it’s why he’s stuck in a studio flat with a leaky tap, and it’s why he’s always drowned with homework he can never pay attention to.

Chance, Hinata figures, is weird like that. Little bumps lead to big achievements, little victories lead to huge downfalls. It’s a gamble, sure, but it’s why years prior, Hinata found the people who changed his life, simply because he opened up his phone.

**_YOUNG NEW GROUP SIGNED TO HQ ENTERTAINMENT_ **

_HQ records has just announced it’s newest boy band, and it’s one that’s already taking off._

_seij-OH! is a new generation of music, with a retro sound that appeals to hip hop and pop fans alike, while still staying true to unprocessed roots. The band features stellar vocals, fast paced raps, touching lyrics, and insane dancers that are sure to raise your grandmother’s eyebrows. seij-OH! has beautiful album concepts, creating stories with every song and video released. Check out their first released track, Lights On, and the teaser trailer for their first album now._

_MEET THE MEMBERS_

_OIKAWA TOORU: The group’s leader and main vocalist, Oikawa Tooru, is an eye-catching singer and one that’s already gained national recognition for his childhood acting roles in two separate plays at the age of seven and ten. “By the age of twelve, I knew singing was something I wanted to pursue,” Oikawa Tooru says. “So I started focusing my energy into my voice until I was found by HQ at 13.”_

_Now, at the age of sixteen, Oikawa Tooru proves to have a voice beyond his years with a mindset to match. Even though his fellow band mates call him the child of the group, Oikawa takes his, and the band’s, career as seriously as anyone else._

_Favourite Food: Milk bread_

_Show Of Choice: The X-files or Neon Genesis Evangelion_

_And To Top It Off: Oikawa has already received multiple sponsorships from makeup companies due to his pretty-boy charm and alluring appeal. Many are already claiming him to be the best looking in the band!_

_IWAIZUMI HAJIME: A vocalist and part of the rap line, Iwaizumi’s distinctive voice and honey sweet tone is one that he makes work, despite having an untraditional feel. Childhood friend to Oikawa, he helped him to create melodies and songs as a kid, supported him through his musical career while trying to pursue his own. Don’t let Oikawa outshine him, though— Iwaizumi asserts himself with every line he sings._

_Hobbies: Jogging, weights_

_Favourite Movie: Godzilla_

_And To Top It Off: Iwaizumi can play guitar, and has been since the age of seven!_

_MATSUKAWA ISSEI: As the group’s main rapper, Matsukawa Issei emits a bad-boy vibe that has yet to be ignored. However, that can’t hide the fact that he’s got a wicked sense of humour (although sarcastic and deadpan), and is able to meld together with his peers and make things work. A true softie at heart, Matsukawa reveals that he cherishes his family and band members, who he calls his best friends, above everything else._

_Favourite Artist: Mariah Carey_

_Enjoys: Blogging, hanging with his cats, annoying Oikawa_

_And To Top It Off: Matsukawa was discovered after he repeatedly called HQ, requesting for an audition or at least to hear his mixtape— a garage band mixed album burnt onto a USB._

_HANAMAKI TAKAHIRO: Last but not least is the leader dancer and supporting vocalist Hanamaki Takahiro. With humour just as witty as Matsukawa, Hanamaki lives up to his reputation of being tongue in cheek, but don’t let that make you think he’s all talk. Hanamaki studied dance since the age of six, taking different styles including, but not limited to: Jazz, contemporary, modern, several types of ballet, lyrical, tap, and of course, hiphop. Known for his sharp movements and bodily control, Hanamaki gives idol dancing a whole new meaning with his jaw-dropping choreography._

_Pet peeve: Oikawa Tooru_

_Inspirations: Rick Astley_

_And To Top It Off: Hanamaki is able to sing the entire chorus to Beyoncé’s Single Ladies while break dancing. Now_ **_that’s_ ** _talent!_

It was a small nameless news blog, raving about a group that would, no doubt, blow up in a year. Hinata had pushed his maths homework to the side, indulging in the chance of new music and a distraction.

It only took one second to click on a link to a video of boys not much older than him, grinning without a care, singing to the camera like they knew he was there. It only took a minute for Hinata to remember to blink, only took two for him to learn the chorus. It only took a few moments distraction, guitar and fresh faces that seemed so _real_ on his phone, to tug his life in a completely different direction.

 _Yeah_ , Hinata decides. _Chance is weird._

—

It’s muggy inside of the café where he works, warmth from the whirring coffee machines and buzzing heaters seeping into his skin. Outside, spring blossoms with vigour, April melting away all traces of winter and thawing the snow that lingers. Hinata is working overtime today, but his mind couldn’t be further away from the little café and the latte in his hands. Hinata hands the drink to a waiting girl before moving to check the time. Another ten minutes until his shift is over, and yet it feels like it was ten minutes an hour ago.

Hinata leans forwards, resting his chin on the counter. There are only two other people in the entire café— a woman typing feverishly on her laptop, and a girl reading a book and sipping on a freshly made latte. Hinata turns his head to look outside at the people walking past, drumming his fingers on the counter. It’s only when he spots his manager exiting the back room that he sits up, turning to face him with a smile.  

His manager looks as exhausted as Hinata feels, rubbing his eyes as he moves to take Hinata’s place.

“You can head home early,” he tells Hinata. “I can cover until the next guy comes in.”

Hinata shoots up, already untying his apron from around his waist. “Thank you!” he shouts, voice straining with the glee of going home early. Hinata quickly hangs the apron up on the employee rack and trades it for a puffy plum jacket, allowing a smile of relief to wash over his face as he bursts out of the café and onto the streets.

Kyoto’s streets are busy and soaked in rain. It’s the hottest spring on record, and by now all traces of snow that once was has been washed down the storm drains. Hinata’s grin is wiped off his face as a car whizzes past, splashing him in grimy street water mixed with salt and sand. Grimacing, he looks up at the dark clouds, squinting through the rain as it splatters against his face. With a sigh, Hinata trudges towards the bus station, fishing his fare out of his pocket as he wishes he had brought an umbrella. It’s already early evening, and the crowds of people getting off work from business jobs makes the shelter too crowded for him to slip into.

Eventually, he makes it back to his flat, albeit soaked and shivering from the rain. He’s starved by the time he gets there, and is glad  that he’s greeted with the smell of food and the sight of Kenma at the kitchen counter, absentmindedly picking at his food as he focuses on something on his laptop screen.

“I’m back!” Hinata calls, slipping off his coat and throwing it onto the hook. “You cooked?”

Kenma makes a small noise of assent, clicking something before making a face of disgust and sighing. “I got hungry, and I couldn’t stay on track.”

Hinata shakes the water off his head ( _like a dog,_ Kenma comments. Hinata only sticks out his tongue and runs a hand through his hair before flicking water towards him) and moves closer to Kenma. There’s an extra plate, presumably for him, on the kitchen counter. Hinata takes it and sits beside Kenma, looking over his shoulder at the images displayed across his screen.

“Editing?” he asks, shoveling food into his mouth. Kenma only knows how to cook two things, but Hinata isn’t about to complain when it’s better than takeout or going hungry.

“Yeah,” Kenma replies. “I wanna release this film for next week, but the editing style is slightly different than I’m used to using.”

Hinata hums, smiling as he swallows his food and watches Kenma work. He’s always been interested in his friend’s art of film making, enchanted with the way simple videos turn into whole stories and appear to come to life before his eyes. Kenma has slowly been gaining popularity, both online and through the network of independent filmmakers after earning a few awards and beating out bigger names. Now, however, he works on the grueling process. Clipping frames, fixing sounds, watching, watching, rewatching.

“Did you manage to hire those actors you were talking about earlier?” Hinata asks, finishing up his meal.

Kenma shakes his head. “Too expensive,” he tells him. “Their manager wasn’t settling for any of my offers.”

“Aww,” Hinata moans. “It could’ve been so cool!”

Kenma shrugs, slipping back in his headphones - a silent message of _I need to work_. Hinata understands, takes away both of their plates and cleans up the mess left from dinner.

Hinata returns back to his room, greeted by posters of four pretty boys plastered against his walls and the steady hiss of brakes from the nearby train. The noise is white noise to him at this point, a dull, distant hum as Hinata flops down onto his bed, pulling his haphazardly made bed covers around himself. A soft _bling_ brings his attention towards his phone, and it’s all the convincing Hinata needs to ignore his homework and click onto the notification.

It’s not much besides news from a fan blog, a few new blurry images of the members of seij-OH leaving their airplane to Kyoto airport. Hinata scrolls further down until he finds the new high quality paparazzi pictures, rolls onto his stomach and feels the breath leave his lungs.

It’s probably stupid, he figures, how excited he gets over pictures of Matsukawa in a long black coat, or Hanamaki flashing a peace sign at the cameras, or Oikawa’s jaw dropping disinterested and aloof laugh as he ignores the shutters, or _Iwaizumi’s profile_ as he walks by—

(Hinata saves that picture. It becomes his background, among other things.)

It’s not for another minute or so that the realization sinks in. His favourite band, the music that’s been present on his phone for the last three years, his idols and debatable obsessions are in his city, probably minutes away.

Hinata looks over to the ticket lying on his bedside table. It had taken ages to save enough money to afford a pass to a seij-OH concert, over a year of saving spare change and five dollar bills every time he found one. The elbow grease had finally paid off, and here he was, twenty-four hours away from the moment he’s been dreaming about. It seems unreal, the way his stomach twists like taffy and dissolves like sugar, strange and alien like foam on coffee and bathtubs. The day he’s been waiting for, the thing he’s craved for so long.

 _Twenty-four hours,_ Hinata thinks, pressing his hands to his cheeks, rubbing his face in disbelief. _Twenty-four hours, and I’ll be there._

—

It’s not hard waking up at six to get ready. Hinata often goes for runs in the morning, waking up with the sun out of habit from high school or out of sheer force of will. He’s always been a morning person in general, but today is different. Today he leaves to be at a concert venue twelve hours in advance, camping outside of a building like the mildly obsessed fan he is. As he pulls on his jeans, Hinata can barely wipe the smile off of his face, barely containing the vibrations of excitement as he skips out of his bedroom and into the living area.

Hinata doesn't bother asking why Kenma is awake at six thirty in the morning. He knows him well enough to realize he's probably stayed up the entire night. Kenma is nocturnal at best, with a sleeping schedule warped more around when he _needed_ to be awake rather than daylight. It had taken Hinata a while to get accustomed to his odd sleeping habits when they first moved in together, but by now there are no questions asked as Hinata pours himself a bowl of cereal and sits down next to Kenma's cocoon of blankets.

"You must really like them to wait twelve hours outside," Kenma says, not looking up from his PSP. His hair is half tied back, and there's the stick of a long eaten lollipop hanging from his mouth. Hinata can hear the heavy guitar leaking from his headphones as he sputters a response.

" _I love them_ ," Hinata chokes out, trying not to blush. "Besides, you waited twelve hours for that game!"

Kenma makes a noncommittal noise and scrunches his nose as his game makes the telling whir of death. With a sigh, he looks up and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. "You're dramatic," is all he says as he restarts the game, attention back onto his screen.

Hinata knows Kenma is well aware of what seij-OH means to him, that it's much more than just nice faces and good music to him. That’s why when Kenma hands him a handful of money and says _buy me a shirt_ , Hinata grins. It's a quiet well wish, _have fun, stay safe_ , wrapped up in a small smile as Kenma yawns and trudges off to head to bed.

Hinata double checks his ticket one last time before tucking it in the inside pocket of his jacket, a bubblegum pink coat that stands out against his ginger hair. Hinata can’t bring himself to worry about his outfit, a striped shirt, light washed jeans torn at the knees and frayed at the seams. It’s the last thing on his mind as he calls out one last goodbye before slipping out from his apartment and towards the streets of Kyoto.

The venue isn’t far from where he lives, a ten minute walk past the commuters and people making their way on early morning jogs. Hinata smiles, bright across his cheeks as he turns the corner, approaching the venue where only two other girls sat, yawning as they sipped their coffee. Really, being third in line is a feat. Hinata sighs in content, sitting next to the girls and pulling out his phone.

Twelve hours passes like twelve years. Before Hinata knows it, the line is a mile long and he’s being funneled through the front, showing the staff his ticket before stumbling into the main area. Without thinking, he dashes to the front, slipping between taller bodies and making his way to the very front of the stage quicker than he thought possible. The bodies meld to his sides in seconds, people talking in varying volumes of hushed to loud, laughing and shouting. Bits of conversation stand out amongst the buzz, Hinata’s ears picking up the words as they past.

“Did you like their new concept? It was a little too edgy for me.”

“I’m just excited to see if Hanamaki will show his abs.”

“How many people are there even here?”

“Okay but, like, Iwaizumi’s biceps.”

“Will I even survive the high notes? This talent?”

“We are _not_ having this argument again.”

Hinata can barely contain the grin that splits across his face. _It’s happening,_ he thinks, _it’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening._

_—_

~~~~The lights fade from pink to blue, then to black, engulfing the entire stadium in enough darkness that Hinata can barely see. The screams that erupt around him deafen his ears, fill his senses with enough noise that it’s all he can focus on, even as the lights on the stage begin to flicker on and off like lightning across a night sky. Hinata feels his insides swell three times their size in sheer anticipation of what’s to come, feels his head go dizzy at the sound of music beginning to play from the speakers around him.

A film begins to play from the televisions behind the stage, and Hinata has to crane his neck to see the screens as they play a safety message. Hinata flicks his eyes back down to stage, leans forwards against the barricade and watches as four bodies make their ways to the center stage. The lights rise, bright and colourful like rainbows cast through a prism, illuminating their faces as the beat picks up into the first song.

And, dear god, Hinata feels his heart stop. In front of him are four people he can barely believe are real, smiling and laughing as they get into formation and begin to dance. The intro number is faced paced and bright, with Hanamaki taking the lead in the front of the dance, showing off inhumanely sharp movements as Oikawa travels beside him and adjusts his mic before singing the opening line.

_“Write my name under mys-ter-y.”_

Hinata nearly faints as the intro begins, heavenly vocals floating down from where Oikawa stands— so _close, so, so close_ , Hinata could almost touch him if he tried. Maybe it’s the influence of the screams around him, but Hinata doesn’t hesitate to stretch out his arm and reach for the man in front of him. Oikawa finishes his vocals, and the lyrics are passed to Matsukawa as he begins to rap, but Hinata can hardly look over now that Oikawa is staring down at him with a dazzling smile, sending him a peace sign before scampering over to the other and rejoining the choreography.

All Hinata can do is stare, wide eyed, mouth agape, soundlessly mouthing the words along in time with every other scream around him. Three-way harmonies only punctured by Matsukawa’s rap, fluid as the different melodies entwine with one another.

The second song begins without warning, an abrupt change of pace from colour lights and laughing pretty boys to deep red hues and serious faces, the bass line slipping into something almost sinister. The song is darker, teasing in all seriousness, funky and modern in ways that Hinata couldn’t describe if he tried. It opens with Iwaizumi for a change, a single line that hangs long and echoes through the stadium otherwise quiet if not for the screams and deep baseline. When the beat begins, Hinata nearly chokes on his spit in the realization that this is a song that showcases the rap line, and Matsukawa is standing directly in front of him.

And, _lord_ , if Hinata could say something now, he would. Words stay caught in his throat as Matsukawa begins, slow at first, grinning sly the entire time, only to pick up as he squats down and stares up towards the people in the rafters. Hinata is preoccupied at this point with the fact that Matsukawa is in front of him, crotch eye level with him, one hand resting on the inside of his own thigh. His black jeans— probably custom fitted, made so that squatting and dancing like this is possible, strain where the seams meet, and Hinata has to try to keep his eyes from flicking back down as he looks up to Matsukawa’s throat as he raps. He doesn’t even hear the screams or the lyrics of the way Matsukawa’s voice hitches as the verse is handed to Iwaizumi, the blood pounding in his ears drowning out any other sound.

And then it’s over and Matsukawa is gone, walking back over to where Hanamaki and Oikawa are, joining them in the choreography as Iwaizumi takes over, flow smooth and strong like overpriced coffee, the kind Hinata has always wanted to afford. When he starts to sing, melodies accompanied by Oikawa’s magical harmonies, honey and sugar mixing, Hinata feels his voice go hoarse from screaming, feels himself blush so hot it feels almost cold.

When the song ends and the music stops, the screams dimming down to a constant buzz, Oikawa smiles, skipping forwards as he breaks the ending pose of their dance and waves charmingly to the crowd.

“Yahoo!” he exclaims, the single word creating a roar of applause from the crowd. “Are you feeling wonderful yet?”

Hinata lets out a strangled cry that was supposed to sound like _yes, of course I am_ , but instead found itself tangled in the thousands of other cheers around him. Oikawa’s face brightens either way, tongue sticking out from his teeth as he grins.

Hinata watches as Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and punches Oikawa in the shoulder. “Are you going to bask in applause or actually say something?”

Oikawa pouts, turning around to look at Iwaizumi. “Iwa-chan, always so violent!”

Hinata laughs, because the response is enough for Iwaizumi to look as if he’d pop a vein. Hanamaki joins in snickering, taking a few steps forward as he adjusts the microphone on his ear. “See, this is Oikawa’s way of stalling— having everyone take a moment of silence for his charming good looks. Could everyone please pause and take off their hats so we can appreciate this?”

Hinata snorts as Matsukawa takes off an imaginary cap and holds his hands over his heart. Both he and Hanamaki usher the crowd into silence for a single second before Matsukawa says, “Alright, that’s all the beauty we got,” and the crowd breaks into laughter.

Hinata can’t shake the grin off his face as he watches Oikawa sputter in offence, shaking his head before turning to the crowd. “I happen to be amazing, in everything, thank you very much. And that includes stalling. See?” he says, motioning to where the tech crew has set up four stands with microphones. Hinata cheers at Oikawa’s tiny success, continuing to laugh as Matsukawa imitates him from behind, complete with dramatic hand motions and lip syncing. Oikawa doesn’t bother to retort, or maybe didn’t notice, instead skipping over to the middle microphone stand. Hinata distantly realizes the microphones must be props, because no one makes any move to turn off the headset mics.

The next song is one of Hinata’s favourites, the start of a small set of three slower, retro songs with elaborate choreography using the microphone stands. Hinata never dreamt he’d be able to see it live, the seventies-pop vibes radiated as the band tips their stands in perfect sync, leaning forwards and back as they harmonize and sing. At one point, Hanamaki leans his entire weight onto the stand, dips it as if it were a person and catches himself before hitting the floor in an intense backbend before straightening again.

The small set ends with an extended version of their title track of their last album, Oikawa singing a solo harmony as Hanamaki stands centre stage, alone, and dances.

Hinata knew this was coming, but never expected it like this, never put two and two together to realize that when Hanamaki does his body rolls and hip thrusts and flips that he’d be mere feet away, close enough that the sweat lining his neck is illuminated by the lights and Hinata can _see_ it. The solo ends in a knee slide, one that takes Hanamaki traveling across the stage to where he skids to a stop, in front of Hinata, eyes locked with his as he blows a single kiss and winks.

Hinata is dead. Deceased. Passed away, laid to rest with a headstone that reads Here Lies Hinata Shouyou, Killed By A Wink And A Blown Kiss.

He isn’t given time to recover before the next song starts, but luckily, it’s a dancing song, a jump up and down kind of song, sing to your friend at three in the morning in the back of a beat up car kind of song. Every word feels like instinct, falls off his tongue like meat off a bone, coming forwards from memory as easy as breathing. When it ends, he’s barely focused on the words they’re saying, too focused on the screams around him at Hanamaki lifting up his shirt for a split second. Before Hinata can wallow in missing what may have been a spiritual awakening, Iwaizumi has begun to speak.

“I always loved the drums in that song,” he says, voice casual, offhand as he takes a sip from his drink. “Matsukawa always comes up with the best beats.”

Matsukawa laughs, adjusting his mic. “And Iwaizumi comes up with all the guitar, so why don't we make him play us a song?”

Hinata lets out a scream that gets tangled in his throat, accompanied by nearly every other person in the stadium as Iwaizumi sets down his water bottle and raises a brow at Matsukawa.

“Yeah? You play the drums, and _then_ I’ll play,” he tells him, turning back to the crowd.

“Alright then,” Matsukawa says, rolling out his shoulders. “I’ll take over the drums for this one song, and you can take over the guitar.”

Hinata tries not to swallow his tongue as his eyes bulge out of his head. There is no way in _hell_ this is real, no way both Iwaizumi and Matsukawa are going to play instruments, live at his show. And yet, here they are, adjusting their microphones and taking over the instruments from the stage band players and fixing them to their liking. Hinata can’t even believe it, hardly thinks to grab for his phone and film it.

“Wait!” Oikawa says, running after them. “What are me and Makki supposed to do?”

“Sing like you’re supposed to,” Matsukawa answers, twirling the drumsticks between his fingers. “And _Makki_ can dance like he’s drunk.”

Hinata laughs at that, shaking his head as Hanamaki bounces down into a squat despite Oikawa’s sputtering. When he spring back up, he’s greeted by the cheers of the crowd and an eyeball from Iwaizumi.

“Are you ready?” Iwaizumi asks, directing the question towards Matsukawa, who gives him a thumbs up. He flashes a grin towards him, a silent worded challenge as Iwaizumi plays out the beginning notes, fast and hard and blaring through the stadium.

It’s not long after that that Matsukawa joins in, steady and simple at first, before morphing the rhythm into something more complex. With a grin he flicks his hair out of the way, keeping pace with Iwaizumi as the song continues. Oikawa’s vocals become a mere accompaniment, the heavy guitar rifts taking centre stage.

Hinata doesn’t want to lie— Iwaizumi looks as amazing as he sounds. Arms flexing, face concentrated, a small smirk on his face as his fingers move fast across the frets. It’s mesmerizing despite the overwhelming sounds of ringing guitar and smashing drums, the small movements of Iwaizumi’s wrists catching his attention instead of the flashing lights above. Hinata swallows thickly, watching the entire thing with wide eyes.

Matsukawa is a whole other story, and Hinata doesn't know what to focus on. The way his hands ghost over the cymbals to hush them, the thrilled look in his eyes when he raises both arms to smack down on the drums, the self satisfied sneers and laughter that comes from his realization that the entire audience can’t look away.

The song is extended, allowing for a changed ending where Iwaizumi goes off on a solo, Matsukawa improvising along. Somehow it manages to stay together, sounding practiced and raw all at the same time. Hinata screams his voice hoarse in excitement as it ends with a smash of the drums, guitar still echoing through the stadium as the crowd roars.

“So, how was that?” Iwaizumi asks, slinging the guitar off. He’s met with the enthusiastic cries of the crowd, smiling as he walks towards the edge of the stage. Twirling a pick in his hand, he tosses it towards someone in the crowd, moving back as Matsukawa steps down from the drums. In one swift throw, he chucks one of his drumsticks far into the crowd before looking towards Hinata, meeting his eye and tossing the other one to him. Hinata jumps as high as he can, snatching it out of the air and grasping it firmly in both hands. It’s stupid, really, how excited he becomes at the idea of touching the same drumstick as Matsukawa Issei.

“Okay, you two are done showing off,” Oikawa whines. “We gotta slow it down.”

Hinata holds his breath, the crowd silencing alongside him as the song that tears out Hinata’s heart every time he listens that starts. Matsukawa introduces it, says _this is a song about trust_ before running a hand through his hair and letting the instrumental move through the room. There’s chimes and softened electro-piano, minimalistic sound besides the voices that pierce through the stadium. Everyone quiets down, watches in awe as Iwaizumi begins, pouring his honey sweet soul into every word. For a moment, Hinata almost feels like their eyes meet, but it’s broken as soon as Hanamaki takes the next line and Iwaizumi moves.

Hinata never expected him to walk towards him, to jump down into the small space between the stage and the barricade. Hinata’s eyes blow wide, the sounds of yelling almost drowning out the softness of Hanamaki’s vocals as Iwaizumi stands in front of him, opening up his mouth to harmonize with Oikawa as the chorus starts. And, god, Hinata never dreamt Iwaizumi would grab his outstretched hand and hold it, stare him right in the eye with a softened gaze of something Hinata has never quite seen before. Hinata mouths along the words, watches as Iwaizumi branches off to follow his own counter melody, feels the heartbeat rushing through his palm where his and Iwaizumi’s hands met.

The first thing he notices is that they are rough, calloused, and bigger than his. The second thing he notices is that they are gone, and Iwaizumi is climbing back onto the stage to be with his bandmates as the last note of the song rings throughout the stadium like gospel.

It’s then, as Hinata is left reeling from contact that is no longer there, that he realizes there is only a single song left, and it’s already started, Matsukawa carrying the rap steady and slow and the beat picks up to something sensual. It’s his favourite choreography, one filled with devilish looks and wandering stares that belong somewhere else than public.

When Oikawa’s largest solo part arrives, he breaks out from the formation, walks up and down the stage and touches fingertips with various people before settling a little ways away from Hinata. He watches as Oikawa backs up, looking low and locking eyes with him, voice changing into something sultry and breathless, beautiful and so unlike the other songs. And Hinata has half the brain to reason that they’re probably not staring at each other, but it sure feels like it as Oikawa licks his lips and walks backwards, rejoining the group to finish off strong and loud and so intense it makes Hinata shiver. The bass seeps through the floor and through his body, leaves him starstruck and faint.

The crowd yells as the band makes their way to centre stage, joining arms and thanking the crowd with a final bow. Hinata feels his heart clench, feels tears prick in his eyes as if the concert ending was an explosion, as if the confetti raining down was acid rain. He’s being dramatic, he knows he is, but it’s validated by the emotions that overcome him when the lights finally dim. As Hinata watches the band leave, he catches Oikawa turn his head around, eyes flicking across the crowd as if looking for something someone. Hinata catches his gaze, watches as the entire world stills for a century in a second before Oikawa sticks out his tongue with a wink and runs offstage.

And then it’s over, finished, complete. Frozen, Hinata grips the barricade as he waits for the people around him to file out before leaving. His feet ache, ears ring so much it feels like screaming, head pounds like a metronome keeping track of the time that passes as Hinata leans over and tries to regain some sense of himself.

It had happened. The moment he’s been thinking about ever since he discovered them, the dream that accompanied him through babysitting his sister and working odd jobs throughout school, trying to save enough money for the one thing he desperately wanted. Now, he was left in a nearly empty stadium, mindlessly walking back onto the streets at midnight, now very aware that he hasn’t eaten all day.

There’s a twenty-four hour diner not far from where his flat is, and Hinata thanks whatever higher power there is for places that don’t close. It’s empty when he arrives, a red eyed teenage girl working behind the counter who looks as exhausted as Hinata feels, completely spaced out and probably higher than a kite. Hinata orders a vanilla milkshake and fries, spends the next few minutes tapping his toe to the beat of old american rock and drumming his hands against the counter, waiting for the girl to come back with his food and hoping she won’t take too long.

It feels liminal— like a twilight zone, the space of the brightly coloured diner, the stark difference in density of the concert and where Hinata sits now, the only one in a room. He’s finally gaining reign on his thoughts again, finally calming his beating heart, finally accepting that the post concert high wouldn't wear off until morning. Hinata sighs, rubs his eyes and debates taking a nap until he hears the door of the diner chime as it opens.

In the moment Hinata flicks his eyes over to the door, he realizes two things:

  1. The people who have just arrived are much too loud for his still ringing ears and pounding head, with their laughter and bickering and blindingly bright smiles.
  2. Those people are the members of the band Hinata just paid to see.



With wide, surprised eyes, Hinata watches as the members of seij-OH make their ways into the diner, hair sweaty and ruffled in the just-fucked way that seems to come post performance. Hinata manages not to squawk at the sight of them, but continues to stare too long for any normal person. It’s Hanamaki who notices him first, raising his almost nonexistent brows in something almost gleeful.

“Hey, you’re the guy from the concert!” he exclaims, sliding over to sit on the bar stool beside Hinata. “The one in the front row that Mattsun assaulted with his crotch!”

If Hinata wasn’t red before, he is now. Beside him, Matsukawa takes a seat, looking him up and down before shrugging. “Maybe I should introduce myself before displaying my general dick zone,” he contemplates, still studying Hinata’s pink face. “Matsukawa Issei.”

“Hinata Shouyou,” Hinata coughs out. “And I know who you are.”

“Can we not talk about your dick, Matsukawa? You’re gonna make him combust,” Iwaizumi cuts in. This time, Hinata does squeak in surprise of the body behind him, nearly falling off his chair. Iwaizumi catches him at the last second, pushing him back onto the stool.

“Christ, I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi mumbles, rubbing his own eyes. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Oh, he did!” Oikawa calls out, leaning overtop of Hanamaki’s lap and resting an elbow on the bar. The comment earns him a smack to the head, which sends Matsukawa and Hanamaki into snickers as Hinata wonders _what the hell is going on._ Nervously, he twiddles the drumstick he caught in his hand, catching Matsukawa’s attention.

“So you did catch it,” he observes. “Here, let me sign it.”

Before Hinata can get a word in edgewise, Matsukawa grabs the drumstick, fishing a sharpie from his pocket and signs it in soft cursive.

“Hey, me too!” Oikawa butts in, and soon, the other three have crowded closer, scribbling signatures onto the stick. Hanamaki is last, making his the biggest so that it covers nearly the entire thing. Hinata stays silent, still confused as to what is happening.

The girl comes back with his food, slightly confused at the four extra people beside Hinata.

“Do your friends want anything to eat?” she asks, setting down his fries and shake in front of him.

Before Hinata can sputter out _no, they’re not my friends, I swear,_ Matsukawa is asking _who’s your dealer?_ and being promptly shut up by a hiss from Iwaizumi. Hinata can’t contain the snort at Matsukawa’s comment, and it earns him a grin from Hanamaki and a high five under the counter.

Really, Hinata is surprised he isn’t having a heart attack. Is he even still breathing? Did he just high five _Hanamaki Takahiro?_

“What do you recommend, Chibi-chan?” Oikawa asks. It takes Hinata a moment to realize he’s asking him, and a second more to have a thought beside _he gave me a nickname, he gave me a nickname, he called me shrimpy, he gave me a nickname._

“Er—” Hinata says, instantly embarrassed at his incoherency. “The milkshakes are really good?”

The answer is enough for Oikawa, whose eyes brighten as he turns to the server with a grin that shimmers like stars. “Four milkshakes!” Oikawa orders, voice excited and tilted with giddiness. The server nods, turning away to head into the backroom and get their drinks ready.

“So,” Iwaizumi says, glaring at Hanamaki as he steals one of Hinata’s fries. “Are you starting university next year?”

“Yes! I mean, no!” Hinata squeaks. “I’m starting my third year, but I’m finishing my second now. Finals are soon, and, you know, stuff.” He winces at his train wreck of an answer, feels himself flushing. No one seems to care, however, and Hanamaki leans back over to take a fry.

“What’re you majoring in?” he asks, dipping the fry into Hinata’s milkshake. Hinata narrows his eyes slightly before answering, dragging his tray away from Hanamaki’s hovering fingers. Matsukawa snickers, stealing a sip of Hinata’s drink while he’s looking the other way.

“Undecided,” Hinata tells Hanamaki. “But I’ve always liked pictures, y’know? I can’t act, but my friend makes films, and seeing the single frame stories is cool. Ooh, and graphic design looks fun too!”

Hanamaki nods, reaching for another fry. As Hinata swats away his hand, Oikawa pushes him off his stool, taking his place as Matsukawa snickers. Hinata raises his eyebrows at the scene, giggling slightly at Hanamaki’s use of colourful language as he stands.

Oikawa leans back onto the counter, smiling up towards Hinata. “If I were in uni, I’d study space. Astrophysics, maybe.”

“Really?” Hinata asks, curiosity evident in his voice.

Oikawa straightens nodding. “Yes! That, or robotics and programming. I really like science.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Iwaizumi says. “He’s only saying that because he marathoned alien movies _again_ last night.”

Hinata nearly chokes on his milkshake in disbelief as Oikawa pouts. “It’s not an obsession!” he exclaims. “And excuse you, Ex Machina is _not_ an alien movie! And alien movies are good!”

“He never said it _was_ an obsession,” is all that Matsukawa responds before hiding his laughter behind a grin.

Somehow, Hinata finds himself easing into the conversation without noticing, finds himself asking Hanamaki why he dips his fries in milkshakes, laughing as the hours dwindle away into the next day. Before he realizes it, it’s two in the morning and he’s halfway dead, limbs languid and heavy and eyelids sticking together. Iwaizumi laughs when he yawns, nudging his shoulder and gesturing to the time on the clock against the wall.

“Maybe you should get home? It’s getting late. The buses might stop running soon,” he tells him.

Hinata hums, rubbing his eyes. “Nah, I don’t live far, I’ll just walk.”

The realization of having to leave the space he’s created in the small diner, with flickering neon and ice-cream fries hits him like a sucker punch to the gut. Of course it was all temporary, a miracle that he would never breath again. A fluke, one-hit, lucky throw. Hinata tilts the corners of his mouth with a smile he hopes isn't bitter and takes one last sip of his milkshake before standing.

“Wait!” Oikawa calls. “You can’t walk home, it’s nearly 2 am. Kyoto isn’t as big as Tokyo, but it’s dark out—”

“I’m fine,” Hinata squeaks, raising his hands in assurance. “Really, I wouldn't want to be a bother any further.”

Iwaizumi scoffs, and the action makes something drop into his stomach, pebbles into a koi pond. “He’s right, it’s not safe. I can call the driver up. He’ll drop you off before we head to the hotel.”

And, _oh_ , Hinata thinks, because everything tingles like pressing on a bruise. He blinks twice, rubs his eyes and prays to god he doesn't look as drained as he feels. When he opens his eyes again, the four are looking towards him, expecting an answer.

“I mean… If it isn’t too much to ask,” Hinata mumbles, looking down at the tiles, blue and cracked. He can feel his face heating bright, like red apples and cherry trees. He doesn't have time to say anything else before his arm is linked with Hanamaki’s and he’s pulled outside.

Hinata squawks, a sound he can hardly be proud of, and watches as Hanamaki laughs at his expression and leans against the brick wall of the diner. Distantly, Hinata’s mind wanders to how Hanamaki’s peach hair and warm skin glows under the pink neon lights, how his freckles stand out even more when they are illuminated in magenta and blue. It’s magic, how Hinata is still blushing rosé from his hand still on his arm, how they’re both giddy off of lack of sleep and the fact that Matsukawa has joined them by disconnecting their hold and throwing his arms over their shoulders. Hinata freezes mid breath, the action so sudden it makes the pair laugh even more as Oikawa and Iwaizumi exit.

“Stop terrorizing him, you’re acting like monkeys,” Oikawa says, pursing his lips.

Iwaizumi mutters something, tells them all off, and Hinata is left reeling and catching his breath as the cicadas hum in the distance. It’s surreal, the way he’s standing with his idols on cracked pavement, summer night heat sticking to them comfortably, moon shining bright overhead. Someone is speaking again, and Hinata’s mind is so far deep into delving as to why he can’t stop smiling that he misses what they say in favour of studying the intricacies of the unattainable up close.

And then the car comes, black and sleek, and a bald guy with a baby face and another with too much eyeliner beckon them in, giving Hinata an odd stare before Oikawa explains with too much chipper for the earlier hours in the morning that they’re dropping him off. Hinata rubs his eyes once more before he’s ushered into the car and wedged between Hanamaki and Iwaizumi as the car pulls away from the diner and down the road.

After relaying his address to the driver, Hinata leans back and smack his head against the seat, body drained from being awake too long and eyes drooping with no command. He listens to the idle banter between Hanamaki and Oikawa, laughing when appropriate, tries not to focus on the way his thigh is pressed up against Iwaizumi’s.

It’s over all too soon as the car begins to drive down the street of Hinata’s building. Hinata sits up straight, stomach bubbling with a feeling he can’t name as Oikawa turns around and looks at him.

“Hey,” Oikawa says, swiveling around so that he can lean over the back of his seat. “What’s your number?”

Hinata feels his throat freeze, hears himself say the digits in some kind of trance and watches Oikawa type them into his phone. Hinata stares, eyes wide with disbelief that this is actually happening, feels his phone buzz in his pocket and sees Oikawa look up from phone with a small smile.

When the car skids to a stop in front of his building, Hinata looks around at the people in front of him one last time, taking in their faces and the situation, making sure that it isn't a dream. With a chorus of goodbyes behind him, Hinata staggers from the car and jogs back into his building, lungs drained of air and head spinning as the car drives away.

Hinata drags his feet forward, limbs heavy as he smacks the call button for the elevator. He steps in in a daze, leaning against the walls as it _dings_ softly at every rising floor and pulls him upwards with a lulling mechanical buzz. By the time he reaches his floor, Hinata is dead on his feet and trying not to stumble as he unlocks the door to his flat and kicks off his shoes. Kenma is waiting, sat cross legged on the kitchen counter with his laptop nestled between his legs. He looks up in curiosity as Hinata enters, but says nothing until Hinata takes off his coat.

“Kenma,” Hinata says, eyes wide, voice deadly serious. “You’re not gonna believe this.”


	2. you cannot keep spring from coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can i just say? holy shit i am so thankful for the response on the first chapter? im very glad you are liking this au !!!! it means a lot to both me and mooks that you leave kudos and comments~~  
> without further ado, here is chapter two!  
> beta'd by mooksmookin

“So they gave you their numbers?” Kenma asks, angling Hinata’s head to the side before moving back to his tripod.

“No, Oikawa did,” Hinata tells him. “And why are you making me act? I thought you said I was terrible.”

“You are,” Kenma confirms. “All the proofs with you speaking were awful, but you’re aesthetically pleasing and can look thoughtful, so I changed it into a silent film. Turn to the left.”

Hinata huffs and follows Kenma’s direction, softening his face as Kenma zooms his lens closer as Hinata goes through the motions again. Head up to the sky, down to his feet. Grab the hem of his oversized, cut up shirt and tuck it back into the long, flowing skirt Kenma insisted he wear.

“Don’t answer until you finish the movements,” Kenma warns. “Do you think he’ll message you back?”

Hinata drags his toe across the ground before dropping his posture and looking over to Kenma. His face falls as he shrugs, trying not to get his hopes up as his stomach tightens. “I hope so. Like, I _really_ hope so. I keep forgetting that it actually happened, y’know?”

“He’s just a person. They all are,” Kenma says.

“Yes, but—”

“He texted you his number, so just message him.”

Hinata sighs, grabbing his face with his hands. “Kenma, it’s not that easy!”

Kenma looks at him, face apathetic besides a raised eyebrow. “Come on, we have one more scene left.”

Kenma leads him through the streets, ducking under the brim of his floppy hat to shield his face from the sun. It’d be funnier seeing his best friend in such an outfit if it weren't for the late spring heat that stuck to Hinata’s skin and heated his face. Hinata was well aware that his freckles were already making an appearance, but he had hoped the humidity and dry heat would hold off a little longer. With heat flushed skin and a burning envy of Kenma’s hat, Hinata follows him to the store front in the older part of town, with charming buildings worn enough to be considered shady and the best restaurant Hinata knows.

The last half hour of filming is grueling, with the sun beginning to reach its peak in the sky, even though they started in the morning. Kenma squints and shields his camera’s screen as Hinata fans himself, rolling back and forth onto the balls of his feet. He watches as Kenma begins to pack back up, a surefire sign that he was free from filming for the rest of the day. Hinata skips towards the bus stop, ready to head home and catch up on missed sleep, Kenma lingering at his heels.

As Hinata finally makes it out of the sun and into the shade of the bus shelter, he hears the tell tale sounds of his phone ringing from where he’s tucked it in. Hinata squints to read the caller ID when he pulls it out, nearly falling over when he sees the name displayed across the screen.

 _☆*: ._ _Oikawa Tooru.:*☆ calling…_

Hinata trips over the hem of his skirt, nearly knocking his head into the plexiglass of the bus shelter. Looking down at the phone in disbelief, Hinata swipes to answer and raises the phone to his ear, still reeling.

“Hello?” Hinata squeaks, looking around to where Kenma watches him with narrowed eyes.

 _“Hina-chan!”_ Oikawa says, excitement clear though the receiver. _“You picked up!”_

“Yes? Why wouldn't I?” Hinata manages to say, face heating up.

Oikawa laughs, wind chimes and church bells muffled through the static of a phone call. _“You’re so cute when you’re nervous, Hina-chan.”_

Hinata makes a noise that may have been a dying cat if it were not caught in the surprise and embarrassment halfway through his throat.

 _“Anyways, I was calling to see if you’re busy today. We— as in me, Iwa-chan, Mattsun, and Makki— are in Kyoto for another day. I figured you could show us around, or we could just hang out!”_ he exclaims. _“I mean, if you’re not already doing something, or don’t want to, I get that.”_

Hinata’s breath shakes when he exhales, but he manages to form words without sounding like a pubescent teen. “Yes! No!” he says. “No, I’m not busy; yes, I’ll do it.”

_“Great! I’ll text you the address of the hotel. Give the security guards your name, the bald or the angry looking one, and they’ll make sure you can get to the room.”_

Hinata’s phone buzzes, and he promptly pulls it away from his ear to look at the address. He raises a brow at the realization that the hotel is only a few blocks away.

“Okay, I got it,” Hinata tells Oikawa. “It’s not far at all.”

 _“Great, I’ll see you soon!”_ Oikawa chimes. There’s an abrupt muffled noise on the other end of the line, and Hinata nearly jumps when he hears a scream of _Tell Hinata I say hi!_ from who Hinata can only assume is Hanamaki followed by miscellaneous yelling and yelps of pain. He snorts at the commotion, still slightly confused as Oikawa hurries a goodbye and hangs up.

Kenma is staring at Hinata by now, head cocked in curiosity as Hinata puts his phone away and leans against the wall of the bus shelter with a _thunk_. Kenma jumps at the noise before scowling slightly and taking a step closer towards him.

“Oikawa called,” Hinata supplies, voice muffled by the plexiglass. “He invited me to hang out. At his _hotel_.”

Kenma shrugs, hiking his camera bag higher up his shoulder. “I can take the transit alone. Which way are you headed?”

“The opposite as you,” he tells him. “ _Kenma_ , I’m wearing a _skirt_ , I look like hell, I’m gonna die—”

“You aren't going to die—”

“How do you know that?!” Hinata exclaims. Someone across from them shoots them a look that clearly reads disapproval, hushing Hinata’s tone enough and forcing him to return to mere murmurs.

"You'll be _fine_ ," Kenma insists. "You're charismatic enough and make friends easily. You have no reason to worry so much."  
Hinata mumbles in acknowledgement, biting the inside of his cheek as the bus rolls up.

It’s a ten minute bus ride to the hotel address he was given. Hinata spends the entire time tapping his foot against the seat in front of him. He was hardly hopeful of a _text,_ let alone a phone call or an invitation to hang out. Hinata feels his stomach swell at the prospect of seeing them again, smoothing out the fabric of his creme skirt for lack of any other thing to do.

When the bus pulls up at the closest stop to the hotel, Hinata has to contain himself from vibrating in anticipation and worry. It’s not like he could plan for this, despite _maybe_ fantasizing about the whole situation before; the call came out of the blue. He hardly felt prepared as he walked up to the pair of security guards, dodging a few girls bent over their phones at the front.

The bald one smiles as he approaches, and doesn't bother to laugh at the way Hinata stutters out his name. He and his coworker, who continues to glare, watch as Hinata enters the lobby and heads towards the elevator.

The hotel is immaculate, to say the least. Rose interior, marble floors, an elevator with plenty of room and mirrors to make it seem bigger. Hinata hits the button for the fifteenth floor and closes the doors before anyone else can get on, not wanting to have to spend the next two minutes panicking with someone else there with him.

Thoughts rush through his head a mile per minute, too fast to comprehend, but slow enough that Hinata can feel the suspense tighten his stomach, tie his intestines into knots. The steady hum of the elevator is all that he hears, a ring through the small space that echoes through his eardrums and bounces off his brain.

Hinata double checks that he has the right room number seven times before knocking, drumming his fingertips against his thigh as the door swings open. Hinata tries not to fall over in surprise, taking in the sight of a grinning Oikawa, wearing an outfit that could only be pulled off by a mime— a sleeveless turtleneck shirt, horizontally striped, and a pair of skinny jeans, vertically striped.

He suddenly felt a lot less conscious about his worn shirt and skirt combo.

“Hina-chan!” Oikawa yells, grabbing him by the wrist and tugging him into the room.

“Ey!” Hanamaki cries, throwing up his hands. He’s lying upside down on a couch, head resting against Matsukawa’s shoulder from where he sits on the ground.

It takes Hinata a moment to take in the interior. It’s fancy, with a cozy feeling to the upholstery and a modern touch to the tables. Wide windows fit the wall with golden trim, a balcony that looks over the city skyline, and two doors on either side of the room that Hinata assumes leads to the beds.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says, materializing to his right and making him jump. He hears Matsukawa snicker at his reaction, whips his head around to shoot him a pointed glare before realizing how rude that could seem and cowering back into his frame.

Surprisingly, it doesn't feel like an awkward second meeting, like something that’s being forced or a fan-meet in which Hinata sits a thousand miles away. Hanamaki compliments his skirt and trash talks what Oikawa wears. Hinata lets himself slip into the banter of picking apart the atrociously of his fashion with him and Matsukawa, laughing at the sight of Iwaizumi trying not to smile.

Hinata doesn't know many places to go. He’s a broke university student that doesn't indulge in clubbing, high end champagne testing, or shopping sprees at million dollar stores. Instead, he drags four household names to the part of town that looks like it’s about to fall down, with flowers already sprouting from the window boxes and teenage kids laughing as they kick the puddles left over from the day before. Hinata keeps looking back as he leads the way, the fear of judgement strong enough that it clouds his mind from making conversation, forces his answers to be a stingy array of inhuman sounds until they reach the small restaurant on the corner of an alley and the main road.

It’s a surprise that no one judges the flyers posted on the door, that Oikawa doesn't scoff at the surrounding buildings or that the ambiance of the street doesn't make Hanamaki raise a brow. They all follow, curiosity clear through their eyes, as Hinata holds open the door and lets them squeeze past into the small restaurant.

In reality, it isn't much. Less than ten tables, a family made menu with business leaning more on the side of a quick café than a place to eat. Service is slow, and there’s a strange tear in the wallpaper, but Hinata assures that the food is to die for as he squeezes into the corner of the booth. Iwaizumi slips in beside him, and Oikawa, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki sit on the opposite side.

Their server, an older woman with her hair tied back in a braid, comes by with water and takes their orders for drinks. Hinata figures she wouldn't be one to recognize the celebrities at the table with him and drops his shoulders slightly, allowing himself to relax into his seat.

“So Hinata, are we gonna get your number too? Or will our only form of contact be via Oikawa’s emoji ridden texts?” Matsukawa asks. It’s ten seconds before Hinata realizes what he’s asking through a deadpan, instigating tone, five more before he hands his phone over to them to put in their numbers, and two more to internally freak out because _he’s just handed his phone to Matsukawa Issei and Hanamaki Takahiro, holy fuck—_

“Hey!” Hanamaki pouts, squinting down at Hinata’s phone screen. “Why is Iwaizumi your wallpaper and not me?”

Beside him, Iwaizumi makes a noise of surprise, choking slightly on his water as his face lights up red. Hinata can feel himself doing the same, sputtering out a nonsensical excuse before getting interrupted by a camera shutter as Matsukawa takes a selfie.

“Excuse me, I’m the prettiest here,” Oikawa interrupts, plucking the phone from Matsukawa’s hands. “I should be your background.”

Hinata watches as Oikawa takes a few stunning selfies before Hanamaki grabs his face and attempts to swipe the phone away. The phone is passed to Matsukawa, who snickers at Oikawa’s gasps of offence as Hinata tries not to fear his phone’s imminent death if it were to so much as drop. Iwaizumi lets out a heavy sigh beside him, and Hinata turns to share a look of mutual stress as Iwaizumi moves to rub his eyes.

“Knock it off,” he grumbles, watching as Matsukawa holds out his arm and takes a few more pictures with Hanamaki at his side, Oikawa squeezing into the frame. Matsukawa and Hanamaki sigh in almost unison, handing the phone back over to Iwaizumi, who stares them all down for a second before taking it to put in his number.

They stay at the restaurant until their food is long gone, talking about the city and Hinata’s classes and his job at the café and how he had just came from filming with Kenma. Iwaizumi shares his plans to go see a new action movie that releases in a few days, Oikawa chimes in that _it’s awful, Iwa-chan, just guns and fast cars!_ while Hanamaki and Matsukawa indulge Hinata by trying to guess stupid facts about his life.

It’s unlike the diner the night before, feeling one thousand times more real, more grounding. Hinata watches as Hanamaki and Oikawa banter, laughing along, feels less like an outsider looking in and more like something within their dimension. Oikawa is the only one wearing makeup, and the rest are dressed relatively down in jeans or sweatpants, no one to impress, no shows to put on. There's a word for it, for how tactile the moment is, for how Hinata feels like he can reach out and touch the time passing through the air.

(He remembers the word when he’s back at home, brushing his teeth and trying not to choke when he sees his face on Oikawa’s Instagram. _Genuine_.)

—

Summer becomes a fully fledged monster of humid heat and air so thick it's like breathing molasses. Hinata spends most of his days drinking iced coffee diluted with chocolate as not to become a shaking caffeinated mess. The café sells ice cream in the summer and Hinata cherishes the cool wafts of air from the freezers as he serves mint-choco-chip to four year olds with sticky fingers and grins wider than his own. It’s exhausting, the way the heat saps him from any energy, but there’s a light at the end of the tunnel when he he’s on break and his phone lights up.

 _☆*: ._ _Oikawa Tooru.:*☆: god fucking dammit i walked into the glass doors at the studio again and the ceo’s asshole son saw me_

_makimakimaki: lmao get REKT_

Hinata snorts, kicking his feet up onto the extra chair as he responds. Of _course_ Oikawa would do something like that.

_hinata!!!: omgomg r u ok???????????_

_matsukawa( ͡° ͜°): do you have an ugly bruise to match your ugly face or is it just your pride thats wounded_

_☆*: ._ _Oikawa Tooru.:*☆: mattsun, not even running into a glass wall could wound my beauty so much that i look like you~_

_Iwaizumi: Doesn't explain how you managed to walk into a glass door._

_makimakimaki: he hasnt got depth perception without his glasses on let him be_

_matsukawa( ͡° ͜°): maki he fuccing insulted me this means war_

_makimakimaki: babe,,,,,, ill defend u_

_hinata!!!: not gonna lie that seems really gay_

_☆*: ._ _Oikawa Tooru.:*☆: HA_

_Iwaizumi: Oikawa, you're gay._

_makimakimaki: oikawa, youre gay_

_matsukawa( ͡° ͜°): oikawa ur fuckng gay lmao_

_☆*: ._ _Oikawa Tooru.:*☆: i cannot BELIEVE_

_hinata!!!: aren't u all like…. gay_

_makimakimaki: oh my god hinata how did you know_

_matsukawa( ͡° ͜°): this isn't how you should've found out_

_matsukawa( ͡° ͜°): we were trying to be discreet about it_

_Iwaizumi: Lyrics To Matsukawa’s Rap Verse In International:_

_[As you know, my voice will turn you on](https://youtu.be/GjiHgd_iyKI) _

_Whether it’s a guy or girl, my tongue will make you come_

_[Boom! Boy, I’m hot like a porno](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N5pFBPw04uU) _

_I’m open to all men and women, but no homo_

_☆*: ._ _Oikawa Tooru.:*☆: savage_

_makimakimaki: “no homo” alright sweaty,,,,,_

_hinata!!!: i was gonna say…_

_matsukawa( ͡° ͜°): point taken_

_matsukawa( ͡° ͜°):  i like boys_

_makimakimaki: id fucking hope so_

_Iwaizumi: So Hinata, are you off work already?_

_hinata!!!: nah im on break!!!!!!! is it as hot in tokyo as it is here bcuz im dying_

_☆*: ._ _Oikawa Tooru.:*☆: well, I, for one, am enjoying the wonderful AC of HQ’s studios_

 _☆*: ._ _Oikawa Tooru.:*☆: im regretting volunteering to produce this track tho .·´¯`( >▂<)´¯`· im already working on all the songs for our next comeback this is too much_

_Iwaizumi: You literally didn't have to why did you say yes?_

_☆*: ._ _Oikawa Tooru.:*☆: I DONT KNOW MICHIMIYA HAS SUCH A DIFFERENT SOUND THAN IM USED TO IDK WHY I WAS ASKED_

_makimakimaki: translation: oikawa likes having his name on things_

_☆*: ._ _Oikawa Tooru.:*☆: FALSE UNTRUE_

_matsukawa( ͡° ͜°): sure bout that_

_hinata!!!: i think its really kind of you to help her out!!! but why did you have to go into the studio to produce? i thought she already recorded the vocals_

_☆*: ._ _Oikawa Tooru.:*☆: she had a bunch of questions and ideas and she was gonna be in for practice anyway so i decided to show up_

_hinata!!!: !!!!!! thats so nice of you_

_makimakimaki: careful hinata you're gonna inflate his ego_

_Iwaizumi: Shouldn't you be working?_

_☆*: ._ _Oikawa Tooru.:*☆: what are you, some kind of mother_

_Iwaizumi: Try me._

_matsukawa( ͡° ͜°): o fucc oikawa is dead_

_makimakimaki: rest in peace_

_hinata!!!: please don't die oikawa_

_matsukawa( ͡° ͜°): oikawa fucking_

_matsukawa( ͡° ͜°): passed away_

_Iwaizumi: Hanamaki. Matsukawa. Get back to work. You're supposed to be doing interviews now that tour has ended. Have you even left? You’re going to be late again._

_makimakimaki: FINE have fun meeting with the manager and discussing publicity statistics LOSER_

_☆*: ._ _Oikawa Tooru.:*☆: bye hina-chan!!!!! ill talk with you later~_

_makimakimaki: see u fuckers on the flip side_

_matsukawa( ͡° ͜°): team rocket blasting off <3 _

_Iwaizumi: I’ll talk with you later, Skype tonight?_

_hinata!!!: of course!!!!!!_

It’s normal now, speaking like friends, sending selfies and receiving pictures of Oikawa asleep in the middle of the studio, sticky notes over his face. It’s an odd kind of realization that they’re actually friends, that Hinata is someone actively involved in their lives, that the laughing and talking and shared stories they tell are more than just fan service to a shy boy after a concert.

They like him. The thought sends butterflies through Hinata’s stomach and makes him feel almost lightheaded. They’re _friends_.

So July melts into August, and Hinata has weekly Skype sessions with celebrities that he almost forgets are just that. The café’s business slows enough that Hinata can get away for a few days and relax, and Kenma continues to sleep at odd hours and edit films till the early hours of the morning. Time slows to a halt with the stillness of the summer breeze, and Hinata lets his worries momentarily stop with it, sits by the one window in their cramped apartment and watches the sunset as he waits for a call.

His phone chimes once, twice, three times, snaps Hinata out of his daze. He’s quick to answer, balancing his phone against the sill as he rests his head on his arms as smile as four faces appear on the screen. Hinata feels his grin swell wide across his cheeks as they wave hello.

“Hina-chan!” Oikawa exclaims, squeezing forwards from where he was squished to the side.

“Hey!” Hinata replies, equally excited. From the looks of their background, a large, empty room with mirrored walls and wooden floor, they’re still at the dance studio. It makes sense, Hinata notes, noticing the faint line of sweat across their foreheads.

Matsukawa, the one holding the camera, leans against the mirror and adjusts the angle of the camera so Oikawa isn’t seen. “So, I’m gonna cut to the chase—”

“Let me get back into frame!” Oikawa shouts. Hinata can’t see his face, but he _can_ see Iwaizumi reach out and shove him again as Hanamaki snickers.

“We have the weekend off,” Matsukawa tells him. “Do you have room at your place?”

Hinata nearly knocks his phone out of his window as he sits up. “What?!”

“Iwaizumi came up with the idea that we drive down to see you,” Hanamaki supplies. “If you want, we can stay at a hotel.”

Iwaizumi makes a gruff noise and moves so that he’s out of frame. “You haven't even asked if he wants to see us yet.”

There's a brief period of silence where everyone stops talking and looks towards the camera, waiting for Hinata’s response. Hinata swallows, blinking away his surprise as he begins to smile. “Of course I want to see you,” he says, shock wearing off into glee. “I’m just surprised, is all.”

“So we can come?” Oikawa asks, excitement clear in his eyes as he pushes into frame.

“Of course! There was nothing stopping you in the first place,” Hinata tells them. He can feel the excitement building up in his own stomach, the nerves buzzing as his smile widens. “Although, could you bring an air mattress or something? And you can’t be too loud or anything, my friend is a bit of an introvert. Also, are you sure? It’s a five and a half hour drive—”

“We’re leaving tonight, and road trips are fine with us,” Iwaizumi tells him. “If it’s too crowded, we can always get a motel or something.”

“I mean, if you can bring something to sleep on, then I’d love to have you.”

It’s all the invitation Hanamaki and Oikawa need to scream _road trip!_ and leap onto each other, laughing and dragging each other around. Hinata feels something pull at the sight of their laughter, forces his smile wide and his stomach to bubble like soda. It doesn't feel all that real, the idea that the four on the screen would be in front of him in mere hours, that the fluke that brought their friendship together would happen once more.

It’s only when the call ends that Hinata sees Kenma emerge from his room, rubbing his eyes with a camera slung over his shoulder.

“The couch pulls out,” Kenma tells him, and it’s a moment before Hinata realizes he must’ve been listening to the entire conversation. “Please tell me we won’t have paparazzi at our door.”

“We won’t have paparazzi at our door,” Hinata reiterates.

“Good,” Kenma says. “I’m gonna go work on some photography for my portfolio, I’ll be back later.”

When the door clicks to a close, it’s all Hinata can do not to pinch himself in disbelief.

They arrive in a whirlwind with barely any luggage and tired eyes, led into the apartment by an exasperated Kenma who had met them in the elevator on the way back from shooting. Hinata doesn't have time to think of an appropriate reaction before Oikawa wraps him into a hug, throwing his bag onto the floor before pulling away to look around at Hinata’s small apartment. It’s clean for once— Hinata made an effort to put away any dishes, vacuumed for the first time in an embarrassingly long time, and even went as far as to wipe down the counters.

Needless to say, he was nervous.

Iwaizumi sends him a welcoming smile as Matsukawa collapses onto the pullout couch with a groan, burying his face into the pillows. Of course, Hinata thinks, of course they're tired. They’ve been traveling for nearly six hours after working a full day, putting up with a long road trip just to see _him_.

Hinata cannot believe it. Not in the slightest.

“So,” Hanamaki says, making his way over to the fridge. “Got anything to eat?”

Hinata smiles, takes a deep breath to calm himself. It’s still them. It’s always going to be just them.

“I have a lot of leftovers, some ice cream—”

“Ice cream?” Oikawa notes, perking up slightly. “What kind?”

Hinata walks over to the fridge and yanks open the freezer, squinting at the boxes shoved inside. “Cookie dough and vanilla.”

Oikawa grins, reaching out his hands in a grabby motion from where he’s perched on the beanbag. “Cookie dough, please!”

Hinata nods, pulling the tub of ice cream from the fridge and setting it on the counter. “Hanamaki?” he asks, looking over his shoulder only to see Hanamaki much closer than he would expect.

“Same for me. Oi, Iwaizumi!” Hanamaki calls.

Iwaizumi, who was moving their bags to an empty nook next to the couch, looks up. “Vanilla,” he answers, returning to moving the bags and setting up a spare futon.

“Matsukawa? Do you want any?” Hinata asks.

There’s a muffled noise from the couch in response. Hinata looks over to Hanamaki, who shrugs. He decides to give him a bit of both.

Eventually, once the ice cream is sorted and Matsukawa finally pries himself from the couch cushions, Hinata manages to squeeze between the four and turn on the television, switching on Netflix and tossing the remote in front of him. There’s a scuffle between Matsukawa and Oikawa over grabbing it, and Hinata can’t do much but laugh when Iwaizumi tears Oikawa’s hands away and lets Matsukawa win.

“We are not watching your alien movies _again_ ,” Iwaizumi grits.

Oikawa whines pouting out his lip as he turns to Hinata. “Hina-chan, he’s wounded me!”

“Oh!” Hanamaki exclaims as Matsukawa scrolls through the library. “Let’s just watch Pacific Rim, enough monsters for Iwaizumi, enough aliens for Oikawa, and enough action for Mattsun. Problem solved.”

Hinata raises his eyebrows. “Sounds good to me.”

“Then it’s settled!” Oikawa cries, all the permission needed for Matsukawa to click on the title and toss the remote aside.

In all honestly, they don’t spend much time watching the movie. Hinata becomes acquainted with the sensation of trying not to blush when he’s squished up against Iwaizumi, leaning onto his bicep and trying not to faint when Hanamaki pulls out a bottle of something strong and expensive from his bag. It’s a terrible idea, and Hinata considers burying himself in Iwaizumi’s strong chest instead of acknowledging that he’s going to be the only one drunk under the table.

Surprisingly, he isn’t. Oikawa turns out to be a lightweight, and soon both he and Hinata are in a fit of giggles, laughing at the deformed monsters on screen as they attempt to copy their noises.

“N-no no,” Oikawa slurs, tapping Hinata’s head. “It’s more like this!” Oikawa proceeds to make a guttural screech. If Hinata were sober, he’d ask Kenma if he’s wearing his soundproof headphones.

Hinata chokes on the water he was given— by whom he has no idea, but suspects Iwaizumi— and doubles over. “What was that?”

“Oikawa, you sound even more like a dying horse than when you sing,” Hanamaki says from across the room, sitting on the beanbag with Matsukawa and doing nothing to hide his laughter. Matsukawa snickers, filming the entire thing.

Oikawa pouts, waving a finger at Hanamaki. “Low blow, Makki,” he whines. “Hina-chan, save me!”

And suddenly, Oikawa is leaning on him, and Hinata is pushing him away and saying something along the lines of _his voice is_ **_beautiful_** _!_ while Matsukawa and Hanamaki hold their ribs in laughter.

“You two have barely had anything, and I’m convinced that that’s enough,” Iwaizumi states, shaking his head as he snatches the bottle and screws on the lid.

“They’re just easy drunks who are giggly. Not everyone has the steel tolerance of you and Mattsun,” Hanamaki laments. “We will all have to chug a litre of water and survive ourselves.”

Hinata giggles again. He’s really not that drunk, but the buzz is making him giddy enough that the smallest things are funny. Beside him, Oikawa rubs his eyes and sprawls out slightly more, focusing back on the television screen as Matsukawa tries to talk Iwaizumi into a drinking contest.

“Not right now. Jesus,” Iwaizumi groans. Matsukawa sighs, flopping on top of Hanamaki and demanding water instead.

The water turns out to be a good idea, forcing Hinata to stand and direct Iwaizumi to where the cups and bottles are. Usually, he’d grab a stool to reach them, but Iwaizumi manages to grab the bottle off the top of the fridge and hand it to Hinata, all while Oikawa chimes about shrimp and his height.

Hinata really, really wants to be mad. He raises an eyebrow as if to attempt to sass Oikawa out, but his grin gives it away.

It settles down from there, the conversation simmering low as the hours dwindle to earlier in the morning. Hanamaki and Matsukawa claim the pullout couch as their own, leaving Iwaizumi to use the futon he brought and Oikawa to use Hinata’s. Hinata feels half bad about leaving his guest strewn across the living room, but they’re grinning enough that it can’t be _that_ bad.

It’s only after Hinata begins to find himself slipping, nodding off and catching his head falling low, that he forces himself to say goodnight. Oikawa has already finished his nightly routine, having applied his moisturizer with a small travel sized mirror as he sits on his makeshift bed, and the others have begun to do much the same. Iwaizumi looked dead on his feet, and Matsukawa and Hanamaki were nursing shared yawns and tired laughter.

With a softened smile, Hinata slips into the bathroom to brush his teeth. His reflection is haphazard, skin blotchy, eyes rubbed red and hair wild and out of place. The buzz of the alcohol has mostly worn off, enough so that he’s not laughing at the dribble of toothpaste on the corner of his mouth. Even so, Hinata figures he should grab another glass of water for the morning in case it’s worse than he thinks.

As he pads back towards the kitchen, Hinata notices the lowered lights in the living room, the single stove lamp being the only thing illuminating the space. Moving to round the corner, he spots Hanamaki and Matsukawa, fixing the covers on the bed and sharing a quiet conversation.

“Fix the covers before you get under them, ya doof,” Hanamaki whispers.

“Yeah, yeah,” is all Matsukawa responds, leaning over the arm of the couch to press a kiss to Hanamaki’s mouth.

The kiss is soft, slow, moving slowly for a few moments before they pull away like taffy, chewing gum stretched thick. Hinata hears the faintest wisp of a laugh slip from Hanamaki as Matsukawa smiles, patting the bed next to him. Hanamaki finally flops down, and Hinata forces himself to tear his eyes away.

It isn’t a surprise. Hinata knows they’re dating. A little over a year ago, suspicions were confirmed in vague statements at press meets, offhand comments made in meet ups, the odd picture shared that was never denied.

The first few times were shocking. Hanamaki, after being asked if he was really dating Matsukawa like many fans had assumed, simply replied, “Well I sure hope so. His tongue was in my mouth last night,” to the paparazzi. Matsukawa was one to simply say nothing more than _well yeah_ , and move on, winking at Hanamaki before the conversation led elsewhere. It was old news— HQ management didn’t want to reveal any details beyond that of their relationship, and the two seemed comfortable enough acting perfectly the same.

Still, there was an uncharacteristic kind of tenderness, still sweet and sour enough to be them, but foreign to Hinata’s eyes. It was private in a way that Hinata felt like he was intruding, careful and _soft_ in a way that made his heart tug in his chest and his stomach boil, that didn't seem like it could be real.

He fills up his water with slightly shaking hands for a reason he cannot assume, face flushed even through the darkness. With feather light footsteps he walks back down the hall, slipping into his room with a sigh. It almost didn’t feel real.

—

 **seij-OH! Updates** posted **:**

Matsukawa Issei’s Instagram Story last night! Look at Oikawa >.<

_view comments_

 

 **oiksugar230** : holy shit what kind of noise was that???!??!?

 **iwa5ever** : idk but who’s the redhead??

 **xxoiks3** : lmao where are they??? who’s the person??

 **hanahanahiro** : havent seen him before, maybe hes just a friend…

—

Morning comes with cracks of light that pours through Hinata’s window, forcing him awake. As if normal, he goes throughout a morning routine— makes his bed, picks his laundry off the floor, showers, and washes his face. He’s an early riser, used to being alone for a few hours as the sun rises and the city begins to wake. Today, however, as he walks from his room in a soft t-shirt and skinny jeans, he’s met with the sight of Oikawa, squinting at the coffee machine and attempting to press the right buttons.

“Morning!” Hinata chimes. Oikawa jumps, an inhuman squeak escaping his lips. They stare wide eyed at each other, neither moving as the coffee pot begins to whir.

“I was trying to make coffee—”

“What the hell kind of noise was that?!”

 _“Shh!”_ Oikawa says, blushing. “You scared me, is all.”

Hinata sighs, smile ghosting onto his lips. The stove clock reads 8:30 and outside, the birds chirp with such glee it makes Hinata wonder if they think they’re performing. Albeit, the sounds are loud, loud enough that he can hear the others begin to stir.

It’s ten minutes before Hanamaki is up, groaning once Oikawa and Hinata’s chatter grows too loud to ignore. He flips them off, rubbing his eyes and fumbling with the newly made coffee before collapsing back on the pull out couch, careful not to spill the contents of his drink. Hinata bites his tongue in effort not to sigh out of some sort of odd adoration and moves to grab some pans and get breakfast together.

“Fuck you for waking me up, Oikawa,” Hanamaki mutters into his mug. He turns to a sleeping Matsukawa, prodding at his face. When it’s clear he’s dead to the world of the woken, Hanamaki sighs and looks back towards Iwaizumi.

“Hey, Oikawa,” Hanamaki begins, raising his voice slightly. “You’re not a pussy, right?”

Oikawa scoffs indignantly. “No, of course not,” he answers.

Hanamaki raises an eyebrow, and _oh_ , Hinata is sure they’re both dead for different reasons.

“Oh?” Hanamaki replies. “Then wake him up.”

Oikawa narrows his eyes, setting down his coffee mug as if to accept the challenge. Carefully, he tiptoes towards the sleeping Iwaizumi, crouching down beside his head and tilting his face so that his lips are next to his ear. Both Hanamaki and Hinata hold their breaths as Oikawa inhales softly, maniacal grin already spreading across his face.

“Iwa-” Oikawa starts, sickeningly sweet and low, before lilting his voice into something akin to a screech, “CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!”

There's a split second where everything is silence, where Oikawa sits dead in the eye of a hurricane as he finishes his screech. The next moment, Iwaizumi snaps open his eyes, causing Oikawa to scuttle away. He’s too slow, however, and Iwaizumi grabs the hem of his pants and yanks him down, crawling over to force him into a headlock.

“Mercy!” Oikawa squeaks, tapping Iwaizumi’s bicep. “Makki set me up! Oh god, mercy!”

Iwaizumi lets go of him, standing up with a sway. He’s still dead tired, from the looks of the bags under his eyes. Hinata has to force himself to look away from his sleep strewn hair, tearing his eyes from the exposed collarbone as his t-shirt sags over his shoulders. He scurries to the coffee pot, pouring the rest into it as Iwaizumi stumbles towards him. It’s all he can do to mumble _milk and sugar_ , and all Hinata can do to prepare his coffee without blushing.

It’s only then that Matsukawa finally stirs, lifting up his head and stretching his arms with a yawn. “What’d I miss?”

The rest of the morning is spent cleaning bowls from the night before and giggling as Iwaizumi and Matsukawa reach their relative states of consciousness. It takes awhile for everyone to shower— and it takes awhile for Hinata to calm himself down from the near aneurism of seeing Iwaizumi shirtless, if he’s being honest. By the time everyone is dressed it’s nearing midday. Hinata isn’t sure what they had in mind to do beside drop into his apartment and eat all his ice cream, but apparently Hanamaki has plans.

“So, Hinata,” he says. “Wanna show me your bedroom?”

Hinata sees Iwaizumi roll his eyes, hears Matsukawa snorts from behind him. “Way to be discreet,” Matsukawa says.

“What, I’m curious!” Hanamaki defends. “You can’t say you aren’t.”

“No, I am too,” Oikawa chimes in, a wide, cheeky grin on his lips. “ _Shou-chan_ , won’t you show us your room?”

Hinata’s face heats up at the pet name, nodding in order to silence their pleads.

 _It’s not like I have anything to hide, anyway,_ Hinata thinks, leading the four towards his room. _There’s nothing I have there, besides—_

Hinata freezes. _The posters._

It’s too late. He’s already opened the door, and there’s no point in trying to close it with Oikawa already squeezing past. In a fit of defeat, Hinata feels his face heat up as he shrinks into himself, gauging their reactions as they look around the room.

Hanamaki is the first to react, with a laugh of disbelief as he leans closer to one of the posters. “Holy shit, this is me! Look at my hair, guys, it’s so long!”

Heat rises to Hinata’s cheeks, and he barely has time to choke out _I’m so sorry_ before Matsukawa is imitating the photos of him and Iwaizumi is tugging Hanamaki away from the underside of Hinata’s bed.

“Why are all the single pictures of Iwaizumi?” Oikawa whines. “You only have _one_ of me!”

“Uhh,” Hinata says, and it’s really all his brain can compute as Hanamaki jerks his head around with a grin.

“Oh? What’s this?” he asks, eyes fixed on Hinata. “Someone has a favourite?”

Hinata collapses face first into the bed. He’s surprised it’s taken this long.

“Hina-chan!” Oikawa shrieks. “How _could_ you?”

Hinata doesn’t bother moving his head from the mattress. It’s a bit spring shot, but quite comfortable— all in all, not a bad place to spend the rest of his life in embarrassment. He makes no move to look up until he hears his closet doors open and soft gasp.

“Hinata,” Matsukawa says, and Hinata can _hear_ the smirk on his face. “You never said you had body pillows.”

“And look, Oikawa, he’s even got one of you!” Hanamaki chimes in.

Hinata dies, right then in there. His soul floats off into heaven, and his lifeless body stays immobile on the bed as Oikawa pushes past Matsukawa and Hanamaki to look at the body pillows.

Sadly, life is real, and Hinata forces himself to look up, face red in humiliation as Oikawa clutches his own body pillow.

“Why is it in the closet?” Oikawa asks him, smoothing out the creases in it. “And more importantly, why do you have one of Iwa-chan?”

“Haven’t we established that Hinata has a bias for Iwaizumi?” Hanamaki answers. It’s only then that Hinata finds his voice again.

“I don’t have a bias for Iwaizumi!” he sputters. “That’d be weird, wouldn't it? Like, I know him now, and that’s why I put the pillows away. They were a joke gift anyway, I swear, I was fourteen and my friends were awful. This is creepy isn't it? It’s really creepy, I should shut up now.” Hinata stops his rambling to hold his flaming cheeks in his hands. “God, why didn't I take down the posters?”

“C’mon, guys, give him a break,” Iwaizumi says, yanking the pillow version of himself away and smacking Oikawa with it. Hinata giggles slightly, breaking out of his shaky embarrassment to look over towards a slightly flushed Iwaizumi who coughs after meeting his eyes.

“It’s cute,” he mumbles quietly, flicking his eyes away. “It is.”

If Hinata could die anymore, he would. Even then, it’s unheard over the sounds of the other three screaming. He’ll be lucky not to have a noise complaint.

_—_

They leave the next morning, Iwaizumi insisting on cleaning everything up. He smiles, bumps shoulders with Hinata when they leave. Hinata has to try not to show how much it upsets him to see them go. They all shine brightly, and Hinata wonders when he’ll get burnt.


	3. the mystery of water and a star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a family can be two lesbians (a singer and a scientist) and a well meaning modelling agent
> 
> meet our dear friend kuroo testurou
> 
> i love him
> 
> (beta'd by the lovely mooksmookin, bless their soul)

It’s Kenma who suggests they go to Tokyo together. There’s a film festival Kenma’s entered, a gala, a screening of his own short film on a big screen for uptight film critics and artsy people alike to view. Kenma hadn't said much about it besides the fact that it wasn't a big deal and that they'd need formal wear in order to attend. Hinata jumps on the opportunity to see his best friend’s work before he realizes the other prospect of going to Tokyo— seeing _them_ again.

Of course, it means that he has to take a week off of school, has to muscle through the work he’ll miss in that time before he leaves. With half of September gone, school is well under way. Kenma has already finished, moving on to try and secure a spot in a small studio while balancing his own independent projects. Hinata, however, is left with armloads of homework for a major he picked at random for a future he hasn't got planned.

It’s not something he wants to think about. It really, really isn’t.

Armed with a suitcase filled with his nicest clothes and an honest to god tie, Hinata and Kenma make their ways onto their train and speed towards Tokyo. Hinata taps his feet against his seat, pulling his knees towards his chest and trying not to puke in excitement. He knows he should be supportive of his best friend, but the selfish part of him is yearning to speak to the others in person, to hang out with them like a friend.

It hits him when he’s staring out the window of the train, sharing an earbud with a sleeping Kenma and listening to whatever underground music he has on his playlist. The others, Hanamaki, Oikawa, Matsukawa, Iwaizumi— they see each other all the time. They get to greet one another with wide smiles, get to hang out in cafés and take pictures and see each other in the mornings. Hanamaki gets to kiss Matsukawa on the cheek, and even though Hinata tells himself that’s different, it still leaves a bitter taste in his throat. He’s not close, a mile away, just a fan turned friend and someone they keep up with out of pity.

Objectively, Hinata knows they don’t pity him. There wouldn't be a reason for them to still be calling him and talking to him and sending him vines at two-thirty am. There wouldn't be a need to tell him about their music plans and rant about their days. And yet they do, and they care. To some degree, they _care_.

They haven't really come up with a plan as to what they’re doing yet. Per Kenma’s usual planning tactics, Hinata only found out they were going a week in advance, leaving them to find a hole in their busy schedules in order to fit him in. All Hinata had said was that he was going to the film gala on Friday night, and that he was coming with Kenma. It’s off-putting, the lack of an idea of where they’re going to meet. It stirs up a flutter in his chest and forces him to feel woozy with worry and anxiety, makes his stomach turn and his feet jitter.

—

For a film festival that Kenma made out to be a “small deal,” there is an awful lot of cameras. Hinata fixes his tie, thin, black, and practically choking him, wondering if he’s sticking out like a sore thumb amidst people with million dollar dresses and a _red carpet._ Hinata looks a little like Halloween threw up on him, wearing a black button down (his favourite, with even darker patterns swirled) and black, tight fitting pants, stark against his orange hair.

“I thought you said this was indie,” Hinata whisper-yells over the chatter of the pre-show. “There’s famous people here!”

Kenma shrugs, sipping at his water. “It’s a big film festival. I’m just apart of the short film category. I didn’t know there’d be a red carpet, either,” he says, and Hinata can’t bring himself to be angry when Kenma is so obviously telling the truth. “Besides, you’re friends with Japan’s hottest boy band. You can’t speak.”

Hinata huffs. Kenma has a point.

A photographer pushes by, and Hinata lets out a yelp that startles them enough to turn around. Her eyes widen at the sight, and she breaks into an oddly plastic smile.

“Hinata-san! Kenma-san! Do you mind taking a picture for the online magazine SHORT?” she asks.

Hinata doesn't have enough time to ask how the _hell_ she knows _his_ name before Kenma has nodded and they’re posing for a picture, and then the photographer is gone. Kenma blinks twice, rubs his eyes and sets his water down on a server’s tray with a sigh. It must be exhausting for him already, despite sleeping through the entire train ride, to be surrounded by people and cameras and celebrities all soaking in the limelight. Hinata shoots him a soft smile, and Kenma gives him one back, a sure enough sign that he was doing okay.

Suddenly, a wave of strangled screams erupt from the doors. Hinata whips his head around, only to be obscured by a throng of bodies blocking his view. The crowd is pushed back as the people make their ways in and towards the red carpet. It’s only then that Hinata spots who the new arrivals are, and by then, he’s already been seen.

Oikawa Tooru waves at him from the red carpet, accompanied by Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa. Cameras flicker wildly as Hinata looks around, confused as to why they were here and motioning towards him.

“Hina-chan!” Oikawa yells. “Come over!”

“Me?” Hinata shouts, incredulous. “What?”

“Yes, you! And Kenma, too!” he replies, waving once more before turning to the cameras and posing with the others.

Kenma sighs, heavy, weighted, as if the entire situation is merely an inconvenience to him rather than something that’ll land him on the front page of tabloids by the morning. Either way, Hinata is coaxed by the familiar angry and bald bodyguards and led towards the carpet where he’s met by smiles and laughs and a side hug from Oikawa as the camera’s shutter. Hinata manages to keep the tension from his shoulders, smiles when asked and drops it for a more mug expression when required, Kenma at his side doing much the same.

Eventually, the body guards pull them all back off the carpet and guide them to an area with less press, Hinata’s blood buzzing the entire time. Kenma seems winded, and picks up another water bottle to drink as they settle into chairs in the main gala hall. It’s then that Hinata manages to find his voice again, albeit hoarse and stuttered.

“What-? Why-? H-how-?” he sputters turning to face them. “Why are you here?”

It’s at that moment that Oikawa jumps him, surrounding him in a hug. “We wanted to see you, of course! Not to mention we wanted to support your friend’s film,” he tells him.

“You could’ve warned me!”

“It’s funnier this way,” Matsukawa says, shrugging, and _god_ Hinata needs to close his mouth before he catches flies, because he’s staring at Matsukawa’s tight black pants and well fitting shirt and—

“Besides,” Hanamaki says, wrapping an arm around Hinata and effectively snapping him from his daze. “This way, we get to see you all dressed up.”

Hinata can feel himself flushing, and immediately reaches upwards to cover his face. Beside him, Kenma stares, noting quietly the way Hinata’s cheeks deepen to rouge and how he can barely meet anyone’s eyes.

“It’s true!” Oikawa exclaims, pulling Hinata’s hands from his face. “You could be a model! Right, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi coughs and nods in agreement. “You handled well under the cameras, and you look nice,” he says, and it’s enough to make Hinata melt in his shoes.

The conversation is cut short when one of the body guards announces the time, leading them towards the theatre where the shorts are screened. Oikawa waves to the press as they walk by, and Hinata keeps his head down, glancing over towards Kenma and giving him a smile. It’s his night, after all.

Once they settle into the theatre— Kenma on Hinata’s left, Iwaizumi on his right— they wait for the lights to dim and for the organizer to step onstage. There’s a brief introduction speech along with a list of the films being shown, and by the time he’s finished, Hinata can already feel Kenma’s nervousness radiating off of him.

“Hey,” Hinata whispers, leaning over the arm of his seat. “You’re going to be fine. Everyone will love it.”

Kenma exhales softly and nods, sinking into his chair as the first film starts. It’s about a time traveling witch who can’t seem to control when she travels, resulting in broken relationships and a lonely life. It’s good, in a cynically comedic and witty way, but Hinata can only find himself tapping his fingers in anticipation for Kenma’s film.

Kenma’s film is played last, roughly an hour later. Hinata stares up at a big screen and watches Kenma’s name flash across it, soft acoustic guitar humming in the background. Kenma hadn’t felt the need to tell Hinata which film was entered in this festival, leaving him on his seat to figure out what he’ll see. With a grin, Hinata watches as the first shot pans down onto a crowded summer street, with heat radiating and warm, colourful faces. It’s only when he watches a figure walk into view with a long, flowing skirt and a torn top that he realizes the film Kenma chose was _his_.

With a sense of dread filling up inside his chest, Hinata watches as the story of a boy without words to speak plays out, silent aside from the ringing of guitar and soft piano. It’s a soft story, of speaking without words and communicating without opening one's mouth. But the entire time, Hinata is focusing on the fact that it’s _him_ up on the screen, that it’s _him_ sitting pretty and alone and telling the story of Kenma’s creation for hundreds to see. It’s equal parts flattering and terrifying, to say the least.

The film last about fifteen minutes, with the only voices being those of the people around him, faces never shown, lips never moving. There are flashbacks of something vague and terrifying, haunting enough that Hinata feels himself shiver despite knowing the darkness is fake. He watches himself discover his own kind of speaking, watches himself become able to listen, and watches as the picture fades into the credits.

The crowd is silent for a moment before beginning to applaud and stand, Hinata along with them. He looks over to Kenma in bewilderment, shaking his head as he pulls his best friend up and displays him to the crowd. Kenma leans forward in thanks, face sheltered by the strands of hair that aren't pulled into the bun atop his head, and Hinata beams with pride.

“You never told me you chose this film!” Hinata shouts over the cheers, eyes wide with disbelief. Kenma simply shrugs, shuffling along out of the seats.

“Kenma, Hinata, that was really well done,” Iwaizumi says from beside them, eyes sincere, face shocked. “Honestly, I think it was one of the best.”

“Hina-chan! You can act?” Oikawa exclaims. “You looked so sad and beautiful!”

“He can’t act,” Kenma cuts in. “There was dialogue, but Shouyou couldn't do anything that required speaking, so it became a silent film.”

“Wow,” Matsukawa says. “You’ve got talent. Both of you. Hinata, you could make money in the industry.”

“Hinata could make money in any industry,” Hanamaki teases, grinning. “But Matsukawa is right, you did a great job for an amateur.”

Hinata blushes red under the praise, smiling down towards their shoes as they make their way to the party hall. He can hardly believe what had just happened, can hardly cope with the compliments showered upon him and the strangers turning to congratulate them or snap a picture left and right.

Once they arrive at the party hall, the body guards give them some space, moving towards the edges of the room and chattering amongst themselves. Kenma is quickly approached by another filmmaker with comments on his technique, leaving Hinata to move to a quieter part of the room.

Hinata waves him goodbye and makes his way back over to where Oikawa, Matsukawa, Iwaizumi and Hanamaki stand, looking completely in their element surrounded by fancy decor and expensive drinks. As Hinata approaches, Oikawa grabs a flute of champagne off a nearby waiter’s tray, handing it to Hinata with a smile.

“In celebration of your success,” he says, raising his own as a toast.

Hinata laughs slightly, shaking his head. “Please, it was all Kenma. Congratulate him, not me.”

“Um, that’s false,” Hanamaki tells him. “Telling a story without words is hard, and you managed to do it. That deserves a drink. Case closed.”

Hinata smiles, pretending to be upset as he takes a sip of his champagne. The bubbles slide down his throat and warm his chest, smooth and richer than he could expect. Iwaizumi begins to talk about one of the other filmed screened, mentioning actors he recognized and names he knew. Hinata drifts his gaze away for a minute, watching the different people around the venue. There’s a woman in a silver dress that looks like it could be a mirror, three kids dressed to the nines and eating cake and giggling behind a cluster of adults, and a man with haywire black hair, looking through the crowd as if searching for someone. His eyes meet Hinata’s, and before he can look away, the man pushes through the throngs of people and makes his way over.

Hinata yelps as he approaches, sliding up next to him and surprising Hanamaki to the point of spilling his drink. Before anyone can get a word in edgewise, he grabs Hinata by the shoulders and turns to face him, voice low, eyes wild and _hungry_.

“You’re beautiful,” the man says. “And I want you.”

Hinata’s knuckles grip white around the flute of champagne he holds, and he can hear Oikawa choking on his drink. Through the corners of his eyes, he sees the others shocked faces, eyes wide, mouths agape.

“Excuse me?” Oikawa says, and his voice is a kind of dark threatening that would make Hinata melt if not for the situation he’s currently in.

“Eh?!” Hinata cries, pulling away slightly. “Who are you?”

“Kuroo Tetsurou,” the man tells him, flashing a desperate grin. “I’m an acting and modelling agent, and I just watched a no name kid get a standing ovation in a film I could’ve had actors in, so you can see why I’m interested.”

Hinata blinks twice, shaking his head. “ _You’re_ the ass who was overcharging Kenma for actors?”

Kuroo grimaces for a moment before rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t know much about him as a filmmaker, but I guess I do now.”

Hinata shakes his head, attempting to get a hold of the situation. “Wait,” he says, blinking hard as if to wake himself from a dream. “ _Kuroo_ Tetsurou? Isn’t your mom the—”

“Retired singer? Or are you thinking of the business technology engineer? Either way, yeah, you’re right,” Kuroo tells him. From behind him, Hinata hears an annoyed sigh.

“You do know Hinata is with us? Four _current_ idols?” Matsukawa drawls. “Your flirting is going to have to consist more of numbering the zeros in your account.”

Then, something odd happens. Kuroo _laughs,_ loud and cackling as if he had just heard the funniest joke.

“You think I’m flirting?” he chortles. Getting a grip of himself, he stands up straight, flashing another smile. “No, no. I’m offering you, Hinata, a business proposal.”

“Geh?!” Hinata squawks, jumping back.

“Hinata Shouyou,” Kuroo reiterates. “I want you to become a model, _my_ model. I can sign you within days, get you a shoot in a matter of weeks. You have a talent that you haven't even begun to tap into, and I can be the one to showcase it.”

There’s a lull of temporary silence in which Hinata realizes the entire hall has begun to stare at them, a silent moment where Hinata lets the proposal sink into his skin. Behind him, the four of Hinata’s friends hang onto the moment, anxiously awaiting his response. Hinata stares up at Kuroo, trying to keep himself from visibly reeling as he pinches his arm _. There’s no way_ , he tells himself. _No way in hell—_

“So what do you say?” Kuroo presses. “I swear, you’ll be making the right choice. The industry needs people like you.”

Hinata takes a deep breath, steadying himself before looking Kuroo in the eye.

“Nope,” he says, his voice not wavering an inch. “No deal.”

—

Kenma stares down Hinata from across the small hotel room they’ve wedged themselves into. It’s one room, with a separate bathroom with a chronically leaking faucet and a hairdryer that doesn't work. As Hinata fusses over his outfit for when he goes out to meet Matsukawa, Hanamaki, Iwaizumi, and Oikawa, Kenma sits on top of the squeaky chair in the corner, DS playing video game music loud through the room.

“You know, you didn’t have to turn him down because of me,” Kenma tells him. “It’s nothing personal.”

Hinata huffs, lifting up a flowing white button up and comparing it to his blue knit sweater. “He practically said he did it because he thought you were a no name,” Hinata says. He looks back down at the two garments in his hands, deciding it’s best to layer them. “Are you okay staying here? I feel bad for ditching you.”

Kenma shrugs. “I’ll be fine, but I want to go out later and take photos. I just need time to myself for now,” he assures him. “The blue looks nice, by the way.”

Hinata’s face lights up with a wide smile as he turns to Kenma. “You think so? I’m gonna wear it with my jeans, the really torn up ones. I hope I don’t look too drab. Maybe I should wear net stockings underneath?”

Kenma makes a noncommittal noise. “You’re gonna look good either way. You’ll probably end up being better dressed than them.”

“Oikawa’s a disaster, Kenma, worse than I thought,” Hinata laughs. “I feel bad for him. I don’t even think he can dress himself. He tries, which is what matters.”

Kenma hums, in a way that he does whenever he knows something you don’t. He doesn't meet Hinata’s eye, but snaps his DS shut and shifts his weight to sit towards him.

“You’re passing up something bigger than my pride,” Kenma tells him. “I’m not going to be offended if you take a chance for something you like, Shouyou.”

Hinata rolls his eyes as he begins buttoning up his shirt. “Kenma, I don’t want to take some random opportunity from a guy who screwed you over all because he thinks I’m good looking.”

This time, Kenma does look up, with a viable look of exasperation on his face. “Now you’re being stubborn,” he sighs. “He asked you because you were good at what you did, and I chose you to act in this film because you can do it well. It’s not a fluke, Hinata. You’re talented.” Kenma holds his gaze for another moment before picking up his DS again. “Besides, that’s how it works in this industry. Really, he’s a big name who can’t bother with every little thing.”

Hinata stands still, sweater pulled over his head as Kenma’s words mull over in his mind. For pride or friendship or a simple bad impression, Hinata doesn't want to believe the obvious truth in his friend’s words, holding his tongue to slip on his pants and settle the seams of his clothes.

“Consider it,” Kenma tells him.

Hinata smiles as he moves to step out of the door. He has no reason to say no to that.

Hinata steps into the elevator, pulling out his phone and scrolling through his messages. The band is busy today, but were adamant about still seeing him. The compromise was simple— Hinata would be picked up by Matsukawa, he would sit in the studio with them, they’d have lunch together, and Hinata would try his best not to annoy them as they work.

The elevator dings, and Hinata steps out, navigating the small lobby to make his way outside and wait. To his surprise, Matsukawa has already arrived, leaning against the wall, mask pulled over his face, eyes trained down at his phone. Hinata tries not to choke on his spit at the sight of him in a leather jacket and worn blue skinny jeans, a look classic and simple, yet ridiculously good. At the sound of Hinata approaching, Matsukawa looks up, pulling off the mask to expose his grin as he opens his arms in greeting.

“About time,” he jokes, slinging an arm over Hinata’s shoulders once he’s close enough. Hinata seizes up, but Matsukawa doesn't move, leading him down the street where he’s parked. “Sleep alright?”

Hinata shrugs the best he can with an arm around him. He can feel the warmth of Matsukawa’s body heat even through his leather jacket. “Yeah, like a rock. You?”

“Same,” Matsukawa replies. He stops by a shiny motorbike, removing the arm from Hinata’s shoulders. “You ever ride before?”

Hinata shakes his head before freezing. “Wait. This isn’t yours, is it?”

Matsukawa’s smirk is wide as he slips on his helmet. “Yeah, it is. Don’t worry, it’s not bad. You just need to hold on tight.”

Hinata makes a strangled noise that dies in the back of his throat. There’s nothing to be afraid of, really, besides the bike flipping over, Matsukawa thinking he’s a wimp, a weirdo, the pair of them dying—

“You’re overthinking,” Matsukawa murmurs, taking a step towards him. “Relax.”

With hands steadier than Hinata’s heartbeat, Matsukawa brushes a fingertip across his chin, tilting it upwards. Hinata forces his breath to steady in vain, his inhale hitches and Matsukawa smirks knowingly at the reaction. From his bike, he grabs an extra helmet, fixing it on Hinata's head. It's snug, flattening Hinata's hair and squishing his ears in a way that's just shy of uncomfortable. Matsukawa makes quick work of the straps, tying them together and making sure the helmet is fastened properly. When he finishes, he knocks on the side, earning him a pout from Hinata and a slap on the arm.

"Alright, alright," Matsukawa says, taking a seat on the bike. "C'mon, just sit behind me and wrap your arms around my waist."

Hinata nods, slowly moving to swing a leg over the bike and sit behind him. Their bodies press together, and Hinata tries not to brush against him as he wiggles into place. There's no ignoring how close they are, how Hinata's thighs rest against Matsukawa's, how his chest and his back are flush. With hesitation clear in his movements, Hinata slips his arms loosely around Matsukawa's torso. Hinata inhales deeply, exhaling some of the tension in his limbs as the anxiety of riding a motorcycle, with Matsukawa no less, creeps in.

"Hang on," Matsukawa says, and it's all warning Hinata's given before the bike growls to life, vibrating underneath them as Matsukawa pulls out of his parking space and reeves the engine, sending them speeding down the street.

Hinata yelps, arms tightening around Matsukawa's waist in a fevered wish to stay on the bike. He can feel the buzz of Matsukawa’s laughter reverberating through their bodies, the sound like an afterthought through the wind that whips through their hair. Hinata can’t bring himself to be embarrassed about their closeness when he’s clutching onto the strength of Matsukawa’s torso for dear life, voice growing hoarse from yelling.

Matsukawa drives fast, tearing down side streets and whipping around corners with vigour. Hinata doesn't notice him slow down once. Instead, they weave in and out of traffic, passing by cars and taking alleyways to avoid the main roads. Matsukawa seems to know the streets well, navigating them with ease, knowing when to turn to avoid stop signs or traffic lights. It takes a few minutes, but soon Hinata becomes used to the way Matsukawa leans to turn left, starts to enjoy the wind and how it whips the loose sleeves of his sweater. Slowly, he loosens the tension in his legs, smile blooming across his face as Matsukawa pulls onto an expressway.

“Having fun yet?” Matsukawa calls out, voice distorted through the wind.

Hinata laughs, pressing his head to Matsukawa’s back. He can’t find the energy to speak, adrenaline rushing through him, leaving his limbs shaking and chest fuzzy with warmth. Matsukawa speeds forwards, pulling off of the highway and down a street shrouded in skyscrapers. Hinata looks up to ogle at the view, feeling like an ant next to the structures. The building they approach is tall, with glass windows, modern architecture, and several billboards displaying girl groups, boy bands, and singers alike. _HQ Entertainment_ shines bright above it all in orange neon lights.

Matsukawa slows, pulling into an underground parking lot outside of the building. The lights glow amber, the cool of the concrete sinking into both of their skin, calming Hinata’s racing heart and steadying him enough to loosen his death grip around Matsukawa’s waist. He nods at a man in the valet area, signalling him to raise the bar and allows them into the garage. It’s otherwise silent besides the echoing churn of the engine, bouncing off of the walls and filling the area with noise. Hinata shudders, and it’s one part the sound and two parts the realization of just how close he and Matsukawa have become.

Matsukawa pulls into a parking spot, switching off the engine and flipping down the kickstand. Hinata fumbles with the strap of his helmet, pulling it off his head and shaking it before hopping off of the bike as he attempts to gain back the strength in his legs. It doesn't help when he watches Matsukawa pull off his own helmet, running a hand through his mess of black curls before looking towards Hinata and taking back his helmet.

“How was that?” he asks, and he says it as if he already knows the answer before Hinata breathes it.

“ _Amazing_.”

—

The inside of HQ Entertainment was as pristine and intimidating as the outside— polished floors, people walking through the halls with phones to their ears wearing Hinata’s university tuition in the form of suits, famous faces standing out among the crowds. Hinata feels his stomach swell with anxiety as Matsukawa presses a hand to the small of his back, leading him through the masses and towards an elevator. He can’t help but feel as if all eyes have turned towards them, as if every glance is following them as they make their way out of the lobby and up the floors. Hinata exhales heavily, nervousness leaving at the temporary solitude of the elevator. Matsukawa hits level seven, humming at the dull music that plays through the speakers.

“You’d be surprised that HQ has such a skinny building. Past level ten it’s completely offices and meeting rooms, leaving the lower floors for dance studios and recording areas,” Matsukawa tells him. “The CEO doesn't want to hear the sounds of drums or people jumping or like, anything musical besides the sound of a cash register.”

Hinata raises his eyebrows at Matsukawa’s joke, laughing as the doors open. Matsukawa lazily throws an arm around Hinata’s shoulder, leading him throughout the halls. The action makes Hinata jump, but he doesn't push Matsukawa’s arm off his shoulder, enjoying the weight and the warmth of him next to him. This area of the building is much more relaxed— plush carpet floors, red walls, signs on each door reading obscure recording terminology Hinata doesn’t quite understand. Finally, they reach a door labeled _RECORDING STUDIO ONE_ with a whiteboard underneath displaying the message _BOOKED ALL DAY BY SEIJ-OH_. Matsukawa removes his arm from Hinata to open the door, letting him walk in first.

The recording lounge is roomy, with multiple microphones, plush chairs, and a few guitars and basses hung on the walls. In one of the chairs sits Iwaizumi, absentmindedly plucking at the strings of an acoustic guitar, and in the other lies Hanamaki, staring at the ceiling. At the sound of the door opening, both of them whip their heads around to look towards them, very different smiles gracing their faces.

“Yo, Hinata!” Hanamaki calls as Hinata and Matsukawa step in. “You two just have sex or something?”

Hinata thought the most embarrassing moment of his life was when they found his posters. It’s honestly nothing compared to this. Covering his face with both hands, Hinata groans, accompanied by the snickers of Hanamaki and the rumbling laughter of Matsukawa.

“C’mere, you doof,” Hanamaki calls. “I know you guys were just on the bike. Geez, you’re so _easy_.”

“Give him a break,” Iwaizumi drawls, putting away his guitar. “Hinata, you know I’m eternally sorry for these two. I really am.”

Hinata laughs through his blush. “Yeah, I mean no, I mean— it’s fine, really,” he stutters.

“Where’s Oikawa?” Matsukawa asks, having made his way over to Hanamaki and sitting on the arm of his chair. “Don’t tell me he got caught by paps _again_.”

“He’s in the tech area, going over producing things,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Give him a minute, he should be back soon.”

A minute seems to be right on cue, because Oikawa bursts through the door with a pompous smile on his face, hair messy, face bare, and skinny pink jeans impossibly tight. His top, an oversized white sweatshirt with the logo of a foreign brand, hangs off of his shoulders, exposing collarbones flecked with the odd mole. At the sight of Hinata, his self assured attitude turns to glee, and he flashes a wide grin towards him.

“Shou-chan!” Oikawa shouts. “You finally came!”

“What do you mean, finally came? You’re the one who's late,” Iwaizumi says with a roll of his eyes.

“Iwa-chan, at least I can express my affection!” Oikawa fires back. It’s sweet and without care, casual, like commenting on the weather, but as petty as any comeback could be. Hinata forces himself not to blush— why is he blushing in the first place?

Eventually, he slips into a chair, tucking his feet underneath himself as the boys move into a small semi-circle, running through basic vocal exercise. Hinata smiles as he watches, enchanted with the ease of the entire situation— how Oikawa could add harmonies to any note, how Matsukawa can hum along, beat boxing and rolling his tongue, how he and Iwaizumi begin repeated rhymes to each other to warm up their mouths. Out of the corner of his eye, Hanamaki catches him staring, sending a wink his way. This time, Hinata can't contain the blush creeps from his cheeks to his ears, spreading warm as he flicks his gaze away.

It’s another ten minutes before they finish up and a knock is heard on the door, a soft, careful rap of knuckles announcing the entrance of a woman in a pinstriped skirt and button down, heels high and hair long, silk and black. She’s beautiful in every sense— glasses perched on her nose, files in her hands, but carries an aura that demands respect more than compliments as she enters the room.

“Have you finished warming up?” she asks the boys, looking up from her clipboard. Her eyes narrow as she notices Hinata, but soften in a moment of realization. “Oh, is this the friend you were talking about?”

“Hinata, meet Shimizu Kiyoko, our manager,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Shimizu, this is Hinata Shouyou.”

Kiyoko smiles, approaching Hinata with an outstretched hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hinata. I’m sorry, though, since for the recording process you’ll have to stay on the other side of the glass with me,” she tells him. “Of course, it’s understood that there’s a non-disclosure agreement and that none of this music will be leaked, yes?”

Hinata nods, still starstruck at the idea of being inside HQ, of being in a live recording studio, witnessing music be made. Kiyoko motions for him to follow her, and Hinata sends one last fleeting grin towards the band before slipping out of the door she came through.

The recording tech area is complicated, and Hinata sits in a chair away from buttons begging to be pressed in an effort to not accidentally mess something up. Kiyoko knows her way around the room, placing on a headstand flicking a few buttons as the band sets up. Hinata isn’t sure how to break the silence, but luckily, she does it for him.

“Have you accepted Kuroo Tetsurou’s modelling request?” she asks, turning towards him.

Hinata’s eyes widen in shock. “How’d you know about that?” he exclaims.

Kiyoko shrugs, swivelling her chair back around. “News travels fast in the industry. I saw previews of the film— it looks quite good. You’d be a good fit for other roles like that.”

Before Hinata can clarify that no, he hasn’t accepted the offer yet, the recording process starts, and he’s hushed into silence, both by the haunting melody of singing a cappella and the serene looks of concentration on Oikawa’s face as he sings.

It’s the first time he’s listening and watching him sing since the concert. This time, there’s no screams around him, no adrenaline pumping through his veins like a drug to keep his mind from working properly. There’s no mic feedback, no flashing lights, no pressure, and in front of a microphone, untuned and unfiltered, Oikawa sings with a voice that sweeps low and high, warm and cool at once, moving slowly and with ease. The song he sings is passionate, almost sultry, and Hinata listens to the unadulterated flow of his vocals with eyes fixated on his lips, on his throat, on the way his face expresses each emotion in every lyric.

It’s hypnotizing in a completely different way, listening to every member rap or sing without backing tracks. Even Hanamaki, who only uses simple harmonies in the song, demands Hinata’s utmost attention. Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Oikawa spend nearly fifteen minutes in a three way harmony, Kiyoko having them repeat the same bridge again and again until the take is perfect. It’s obviously tedious, but none show any signs of annoyance as they work.

Hinata checks the time— another fifteen minutes before they break for lunch. Hinata decides that it’s a good idea to get them all lunch so they won’t have to struggle through traffic and the hassle of leaving the studio. Kiyoko hands him a lanyard with an ID before he leaves. Hinata takes careful note of the room numbers and floors as he makes his way down and out.

It’s a struggle to navigate the city with only a cell phone and a bad sense of direction. Hinata finds his way to a small and busy café, using his array of fan-knowledge of his friends’ favorite food to order something. Service is ridiculously fast, and the woman at the counter serves him with a cheery expression despite being dead behind the eyes.

With arms filled with food containers, Hinata makes his way back to HQ Entertainment. Entering the building alone is twenty times as fearful, and no less than four bodyguards ask him for his lanyard tag. Hinata obliges each time, jumbling the takeout boxes in his arms to hold up the shiny tag with his name. After stumbling into the elevator, Hinata presses what he thinks is the right number with his knee, leaning up against the wall beside five other people in suits.

Hinata practically runs out of the elevator when he reaches his floor, walking fast down the carpeted hall in effort to reach the studio quickly. Knocking on the door with his shoulder, Hinata waits for a few agonizing seconds before the door is pulled open by a grinning Hanamaki who eagerly snatches the food out of his hands.

“God, Hinata, you’re a blessing,” he moans, digging through the bag and pulling out what Hinata assumes is the meal he bought for him. “How’d you know I loved this?”

Hinata blushes and shrugs as the others crowd around and pull out their containers, looking pleased at the prospect of food. Hinata sits down in the circle they’ve made on the floor, grabbing what he bought for himself and breaking it open as the others begin to dig in.

“Thank you, Hinata,” Iwaizumi says, brushing their knees together. “How much do I owe you?”

Hinata blinks twice before laughing and shaking his head. “No, it’s okay, really. I figured you would rather have me slip out and grab something than have to leave yourselves,” Hinata tells him. “Besides, I wanted to do something nice for you all.”

Hinata takes another bite of his meal in an effort to be nonchalant, flicking his eyes away from Iwaizumi’s face in order not to blush. It takes a few moments to realize how silent everyone has become, and Hinata looks back up to see four faces staring back at him with varying looks of surprise.

“What?” Hinata asks, tilting his head, mouth stuffed with food. He starts to blush as he meets Oikawa’s eyes, who sits directly across from him. There’s a look of something he can’t place in the hazel tones— warmth, confusion, something happy enough to make his plastic demeanour drop. It’s candid, makes Hinata’s stomach fizzle like gingerale, makes his cheeks heat.

“That’s so considerate of you, what the fuck,” Hanamaki says through a mouthful of food. “I even make Matsukawa pay me back.”

“Really, it’s nothing,” Hinata insists.

“No, it isn’t. Not everyone would do something like that,” Oikawa tells him, voice softer than flower petals.

Hinata’s face flushes even more red than before as he returns to his meal, regular conversation resuming. He can’t understand why; why the praise makes him so embarrassed, why he feels this way, why Oikawa looks at him without his shield, why he’s even sitting where he is in the first place. Surely they have other friends, don’t they? Surely he can’t be special enough to intrude on something like this, the careful peace of lunch at a studio, a break from work, right? Hinata shakes away the discomfort that broils from inside him, nudges it to the back of his head.

Lunch finishes without any other sensations beside laughter, the five scarfing down their meals in record time. With the break over, Hinata waves goodbye again, wishing them luck as he ducks into the other room. Taking a seat in his original chair, he closes his eyes, listens to the music that flow through the speakers and towards his ears.

It’s all and well, really, until he finds himself in need of the bathroom with no clue where to go. Kiyoko gives him simple directions, but they’re not nearly enough to keep him from getting lost on the next floor up. Hinata nervously turns another corner, knowing that, if the girl’s room was the other way, the men’s should be down the hall. Sadly, his luck runs out when he walks face first into another person, almost knocking himself to the floor.

“I’m sorry!” Hinata shouts, standing up straight, a look of terror in his eyes. The man in front of him is tall, with styled green hair and a black on black suit that fits him like a glove. He looks down at Hinata with half a sneer, as if he were a measly ant on the ground doing something to amuse him.

“Oh?” the man says, leaning forward to pull Hinata’s lanyard towards himself. He reads over it twice before sighing with a roll of his eyes, letting it go as scoffing. “Do you even know who I am-” he sneers, eyes flicking back down to his name tag. “-Hinata Shouyou?”

Hinata finds himself sputtering like a stalling engine, words tumbling out with coherent meaning. The man looks down at him with disgust, opens his mouth as if to say something particularly venomous only for another voice to cut him off.

“Cool it, Daishou,” the voice says. “Don’t mess with my model-to-be.”

Hinata doesn't know whether to freeze up or relax at the sound of Kuroo Tetsurou’s voice. For now, he lets the temporary protection keep him from seizing as Kuroo strolls forward, a lazy expression on his face as he looks the man— Daishou— up and down.

“Well look what the cat dragged in,” Daishou taunts. “What are _you_ doing in my building?” It’s the last bit of information Hinata needs to realize who this is.

“Hinata, meet Daishou Suguru,” Kuroo drawls. “Heir to HQ Entertainment, sleaze, and local snake.”

Hinata nearly faints at the way Kuroo speaks to someone of that importance, but Daishou seems only mildly pissed at the statement, rolling his eyes with a look of annoyance.

“You haven’t answered my question, Kuroo,” he spits, shifting his weight to his other foot.

“Well, Daishou, I was invited by your lovely band— which one was it? The one that earns this company the most acclaim?” Kuroo jests.

Hinata, realizing that Kuroo must be meaning that one of the seij-OH members have invited him, is taken aback, looking up towards him. “What?! They didn't say anything to me!”

Kuroo looks towards him, shrugging. “They invited me to talk business— your modelling offer. I mean, Kenma was the one to bring it up; they just offered a space to talk about it, and since you’re leaving Tokyo soon and my offices are on the other side of town…”

Daishou huffs, drawing Hinata’s attention back towards him. “Could you leave? Go talk business out of my sight, Kuroo,” he grits.

Kuroo rolls his eyes, waving Daishou off as he leads Hinata away. “He’s an asshole— silver spoon fed, really. Ignore him,” he tells him, bringing Hinata _away_ from the washroom he needs and back into the elevator. Pulling away, Hinata takes a deep breath, shaking off the anxiety of the entire situation.

“Bathroom,” he stutters. “Bathroom, then we talk.”

—

Kiyoko supplies them a small meeting room in which Kuroo makes himself at home, sitting in a large, cushioned chair with catlike grace. “Hinata,” he starts, expression more genuine than Hinata has seen before. “I want to apologize for how I’ve acted, jumping you at the film gala. It was highly unprofessional, but I needed you to know how big of an opportunity this is. Have you taken modelling classes before?”

Hinata shakes his head. “The only time I do anything like it is when I’m helping Kenma, who you should be apologizing to, not me.”

Kuroo seems taken aback, but nods, rolling out his shoulders and leaning forwards. “I can tell you more details about the offer, if you’d like,” Kuroo offers. At Hinata’s acceptance, he smiles, pulls a few papers out of his bag and sets them onto the table.

“I work with high class customers— Gucci, Ilves St. Laurent, Channel, what-not, but I also deal with high end designers that are newer, but still as renown. Of course, street fashion isn’t to be looked over, nor is the automotive business.”

“Automotive?!” Hinata exclaims. “You work with _cars_?”

Kuroo laughs. “Let’s say one of my models has a, er, _connection_. But that’s not the point. The point is that I’d ease you in with low risk shoots, get you runway practice - because that’s a must - do a recess of what skills you have, the works. I’ll be able to get you jobs in Kyoto, but honestly, it’s likely you’ll have to travel to Tokyo for the majority of your shoots, maybe once a week? Of course, if you manage to become as successful as many of my models are, you’ll be flown to Hong Kong, New York, Milan, Seoul— anywhere and everywhere. Trust me when I say you have the potential, Hinata, but only if you take this shot.”

It’s a thousand times more composed, and probably practiced, than the scene at the gala. Hinata inhales deeply, biting the inside of his cheek at the proposition. He thinks back to the ease of filming with Kenma, to how much he enjoyed adorning clothes and posing to help a friend. Could he really make a career out of something that simple? He knows it’s not as simple as it seems, but Kuroo is in front of him with a fountain pen outstretched, a pleading look in his eyes, and Hinata wonders if he’s praying he’ll say yes.

So Hinata does, takes the pen and signs his name without dotting the ink on the table. In a mere second he becomes a model under one of the best agents in the continent, blinded by the prospect of seeing the world despite being from a place so small. Tiny, fiery haired, fanboy Hinata, shakes Kuroo Tetsurou’s hand, and leaves the office to hear the excited cheers of Oikawa and Hanamaki at his decision.

Chance is strange, indeed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inhales  
> ITS ABT TO GET JUCIY  
> aka  
> get ready  
> thank you for reading!! please leave a kudos or a comment if you liked, and talk to me or mooks on tumblr @ spacegaykj and mooksmookin !


	4. nights between our separated cities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hello how are you  
> i hope u enjoy this chapter  
> pls click on the link to see hinatas outfit  
> as always, beta'd by the lovely mooksmookin!!!

Kuroo’s idea of “easing” Hinata into the modelling world was squeezing him into a shoot the next day, forcing Hinata to miss an extra day at school and stay an extra day in Tokyo. It also means Hinata wakes up at 7 am sharp, scrubs his face raw and spends too much time in the shower, and, worst of all, it means that Kenma is awakened from his light sleep and forced to wake up at the ungodly hour known as early morning. Of course, in typical Hinata fashion, he’s naked and still in the bathroom when Kuroo raps on the door, leaving Kenma to untangle his legs and trudge across the hotel room to answer the door.

Opening it reveals what he expected— Kuroo, in a pressed navy suit, pinstriped, with tight fitting pants and the first few buttons undone. His hair is slightly less professional, the same wreck spotted at the film gala, and the catlike look to his eyes remains the same. The only thing different is the look of shock at the realization of being greeted by Kenma, the last person he’d expect to open the door for him. He opens his mouth to speak, but Kenma quickly cuts him off, holding the door open.

“Hinata is in the bathroom,” Kenma tells him. “You can wait inside.”

Kuroo nods, tentatively sitting on the edge of the hotel bed. Kenma wants to address the awkward silence as much as he’d like to wake up this early again, but Kuroo, carefully planned charisma and charm, seems to think otherwise.

“I never got to tell you how much I enjoyed your film,” Kuroo starts, rubbing the back of his neck.

Kenma freezes, hands clutched around his phone. The compliment wasn't what he expected. He knew Kuroo had seen his film, but the idea of him liking it enough to say it was something that makes Kenma furrow his brow in disbelief.

“The use of neon colours was what I enjoyed. That, and the wide angles. The directing was great, as well. You have talent,” Kuroo adds. Kenma only nods, flicking his eyes away and opening an app to idly fiddle with.

Hinata chooses that time to tumble out of the bathroom, hair dried, teeth brushed, an electric look shining from his eyes despite the green tinge to his face.

“Ready!” he exclaims, already reaching for his jacket and shoving his feet into his shoes. “I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting!”

Kenma smiles at his friend’s excitement as Kuroo stands up. “It’s alright,” Kuroo says. “Let’s get going.”

“Good luck,” Kenma tells him, smiling in a way he hopes doesn't look bored.

Hinata nods, following Kuroo towards the door. “See you after, Kenma!”

Before Kuroo shuts the door, he pauses to throw a glance over his shoulder towards Kenma. “If you ever need help getting a film made, you can call me. You know how,” he says, bidding Kenma goodbye with a smile and the soft shut of the door.

Kenma wonders if Hinata’s dragged him into whatever he’s started. He sighs— it’ll be tiring for him if so.

—

The lights of the modelling studio are hot, but it’s nothing compared to Hinata’s face when he’s told to strip by own of the interns in a demanding and slightly annoyed tone, already holding armfuls of clothing to shove Hinata into. Hinata squeaks in apology, burning up as he slips out of his street clothes and down past his socks. He’s already been through makeup— a bunch of nice women who chatted idly to him as they primed and perfected his face, even choosing to draw on more freckles, and dealt with his hair, but the anxiety of what he’s doing only sinks in when he’s all but naked save his underpants. He’s a _model_ now, and displaying his _(nude?)_ body to the world is something he’ll need to get used to. It’s not like he’s uncomfortable with how he looks, but it’s a little shocking for someone as plain as him to be where he stands.

Kuroo made sure they arrived early enough that Hinata would be readied first, and that he’d stand by to talk him through the process. Today, he’s doing a shoot for a brand called _Galaxxxy_ , a bright, otherworldly street fashion brand that Hinata already adores. The intern fits him into pink and blue ruffled shorts and a bright yellow shirt, loose fitting but cropped with suspenders to match. He’s given black, pinstriped leggings and odd platform sneakers, but the combination is endearing as much as it is a mess. His worry is momentarily replaced with excitement until a growling behind him causes him to freeze.

“And _you’re_ the idiot who managed to get in?” The man barks. Hinata turns his head to see a flawless looking boy with sleek black hair, blue eyes, and a scowl set onto his porcelain face. He seems familiar, which means he must be famous, which only makes Hinata’s anxiety worsen.

“Geh?” Hinata squeals. “Who’re you calling an idiot?”

“Just because Kuroo thinks you’re pretty doesn't mean you’re cut out for this shit,” he spits. “Make no mistake, I don’t work with people without talent.”

With a glare and no other words, the man stalks away, dropping his bag and moving towards a terrified intern to be dressed. Hinata shivers as his own intern continues adjusting his outfit, fixing the straps before moving away without a word. Hinata is left alone in a very busy room, looking for guidance and Kuroo. Luckily, he doesn't have to look far, as Kuroo was simply lurking towards the studio entrance, talking to someone wearing a mask, sunglasses, and hood. Annoyed at his preoccupation, Hinata sighs, looking around once more to come face-to-face with doe eyes and silver hair.

“Hello!” the newcomer greets, slapping Hinata the shoulder. They’re ridiculously pretty, and judging by the bright, outlandish outfit, also a model. “You look a bit frightened. It’s your first day, right?”

Hinata nods, rubbing the sore spot on his arm from the slap. “Yeah, thanks to that angry guy. No smile, flattened hair, looks like this,” Hinata describes, morphing his face into the angry man’s expression.

The stranger in front of him laughs. “You must’ve met Kageyama. He’s less harmful than you think, don’t worry,” they laugh. “I’m Sugawara Koushi, another one of Kuroo’s models. You can call me Suga, if you’d like.”

“Hinata Shouyou!” Hinata exclaims, shaking his outstretched hand. Sugawara’s handshakes are as strong as their hits, and Hinata’s hand comes away slightly sore.

“Alright, enough talking,” Kuroo drawls, done with his conversation. “This is a small shoot, so it shouldn’t take that long. You’re getting head shots, singular poses in three different outfits, and group poses. Kageyama, you’re up first. Hinata, you stand with me. Got it?”

There’s a chorus of _yes sir_ , Hinata simply nodding and scurrying the best he can over towards where Kuroo stands at the side without tripping. By now, the photographers have already begun head shots with Kageyama,  whose gaze is fixed on nothing but the camera.

“Kageyama Tobio,” Kuroo tells him, sipping at his coffee. “He’s my best model, and a prodigy— probably one of the best in Japan. He was in New York Fashion week last year. He struggles with expressing emotions, and doesn't always do well with new people, but if you can keep up, he’ll let his guard down. Though he does adapt well to his surroundings, has incredible talent, and is getting better at working with others strengths. Really, he’s a genius. Louis Vuitton can’t get enough of him.”

Hinata gulps, watching as Kageyama moves on to take a few standing poses. He’s got a look of almost innocent frustration that the photographer seems to love, snapping away as he switches poses, looking towards the side with steely eyes.

Kuroo chuckles. “Can’t smile to save his life, though.”

Kageyama finishes his solo shots relatively quickly, walking off to take a drink and get his makeup fixed. Hinata feels incredibly intimidated by the ease that he handled the cameras, without being fazed or batting an eye. His hands grow clammy, and Hinata resists clutching his expensive garments, choosing to instead bounce his foot as Sugawara gets ready.

Sugawara is less intimidating, but still demands the attention of the room. Unlike Kageyama, they’re happy to flash a smile, posing with their hands in their pockets, a look of self assured glee on their face.

“Sugawara is really nice. If you need any questions, just ask them,” Kuroo says. “They don’t really conform to gender, by the way. Although they mainly model masculine clothes, when they get the chance, designers love their willingness to model more feminine clothes, like now.”

Sugawara bites their lip as the photographers move closer for a head shot. Hinata takes notice of the dress they wear, the 70s style flared sleeves, the bows on the striped knee socks. It’s adorable, and Hinata smiles through his growing queasiness of how secure Sugawara looks while wearing an outfit Hinata could never pull off. Rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, Hinata realizes how good both of the models are. Sure, Sugawara isn’t as acclaimed as Kageyama, but his talent is obvious as he finishes his solo shots almost as quick.

It’s only as Hinata watches Sugawara leave the set that it clues in that he’s next. Suddenly, everything seems a little too blurry to be normal, his limbs feel a little heavier and a lot slower as he moves in front of the camera, hands shaking only _slightly_ as he looks forward to the photographer.

“We’re starting with head shots,” he tells him, adjusting his camera. “Keep in place, but play around with your expressions. We’re looking for surprise, cheekiness, that sort of thing.”

Hinata nods, freeze before moving into a pose he hopes will look good. In reality, it’s awful— the photographer calls out the tension in his jaw, orders him to turn and tilt his head. Hinata feels micromanaged, inferior next to the others who were able to strike poses without so much of a bat of the eye. Hinata tries an array of facial expressions, each one feeling forced and faker than the last, the photographer growing more and more annoyed with every passing second.

“Alright,” he finally says. “I think we got a few good shots.”

Hinata feels his face heat up, feels his stomach go fuzzy. He faintly hears Kuroo call for a quick break, stumbles off the set on autopilot and flops down onto one of the chairs at the side, throwing his head into his hands. He’s overwhelmed, to say the least— the lights, the famous people around him, the expectations of natural talent or a prodigy when this is his first time in a studio. Kuroo tells him that head shots are hard in the first place, but Hinata can tell pity when he hears it, already trying to hold back the panic, trying to keep it from spilling over.

“Oi,” Kageyama shouts. Hinata looks up from his hands to see him sipping at a box of milk from a straw. It’s oddly humbling, but still scary as hell with the look of hatred still in his eyes. “Dumbass, you model like a mannequin. What were you even thinking?”

“I-I don’t—”

“You weren’t,” Kageyama growls. “Don’t expect me to work with you. You can’t keep up.”

Hinata’s expression turns sour as Kageyama struts away, nose in the air, still angrily sipping his milk like it was his job to decide if he was worth working with on the first day, walking around as if he owned the place. Hinata jolts up out of his chair, fixing the hem of his clothes before walking back onto set, with a new kind of determination in his bones.

Full body solo shots are still tricky, and Hinata still has to work his way through shaky hands that don't want to stay still. He rocks back and forth for a moment, not knowing when the photographer will start, only for a large flash to go off and shock him.

“See, that’s good Hinata!” Sugawara calls from off set.

“He’s a natural when he stops thinking for a bit,” Kuroo adds.

Hinata sends a pout over to them, frustrated at their egging him on. He quickly turns back to the camera, at lost for another pose to work with. He remembers Kageyama’s comment on modelling like a mannequin and drops his shoulders, choosing to move until he found something comfortable or a pose that the photographer liked. When he heard the tell tale sounds of the camera clicking, he kept still, flashing smiles or tilting his head in a way that seemed curious and childish, a little bit coy.

Soon, he falls into a rhythm, knowing when to change, learning how to move. The photographer still scolds him for clenching his jaw, forcing him to open his mouth more, but Hinata is free from being told exactly how to stand. The new freedom makes it feel a little less like a job and a little more like how it was when he was filming with Kenma.

Of course, it all has to go to shit when he trips and nearly falls face first on the ground. By then the photographer has already announced that he’s done with the solo shots, but Hinata still ends up wrinkling the studio floor and his clothes. He doesn't need to look up to hear Kuroo snickering and giggles from who he assumes is Sugawara, already expecting to see the sullen face of Kageyama when he gets up.

(He does. Kageyama huffs and pushes right past him, crossing the set for no other reason than to inconvenience him.)

The group modelling is a little more of a challenge. Even with Sugawara’s calming nature and easy going attitude, it doesn't change Kageyama’s utter reluctance to work with Hinata, doesn't fix Hinata’s fearful glances towards him every time he nears.

It’s only after tripping over Kageyama’s feet and earning a pitiful glance from Sugawara that Hinata remembers what he overheard Kuroo saying. The advice of being natural doesn't seem the best in his current situation, but with what luck he’s having, it’ll have to do. With nervous energy twisting in his stomach, Hinata throws his arms around Kageyama and Sugawara’s shoulders, pulling them down to his level whilst beaming towards the camera. Both make noises of surprise before Sugawara bursts out laughing, smiling and squeezing their eyes shut as Kageyama stares dumbfounded into the void. The photographer clicks away as they move to another pose, Hinata again doing his best to annoy Kageyama, interacting with him in a way he hopes looks good enough for the photographer.

“Lovely, keep it up,” Kuroo calls from offset, and Hinata glances away to see him sitting beside the masked visitor and talking idly. He quickly focuses back on modelling, falling into the pace of acting “natural” and mimicking Sugawara and Kageyama’s actions.

It’s another half hour or so before the shoot officially ends, the photographer looking over the shots with a satisfied smile on their face. They thank the models as they begin packing, and Hinata sighs in wonder of completing his first shoot.

Smiling in relief, Hinata takes a water bottle from an intern and drinking it eagerly. Behind him, he hears a cough, and whips his head around to stare at a disgruntled Kageyama, glaring at him with loathing intensity that can’t possibly go unnoticed.  

“Y-you did a nice job,” he grumbles, flicking his eyes onto the ground. “For a beginner.”

Hinata stares blankly at him for a few moments. “Kageyama, are you having a stroke?” he asks, confused to why the model who spent the last few hours trying to kill him with just his gaze is giving him a compliment.

“Idiot!” Kageyama barks in reply. “Don’t think that means I like you! If we work together again, you better fix your tension. I don’t model with bricks.”

Hinata blinks twice, looking up and down at Kageyama. He’s flustered, and angry, and to be honest, so is Hinata. With a grin, Hinata nods, taking another sip of his water bottle before looking Kageyama in the eye.

“Fine,” he declares. “From this day, we become rivals!”

Kageyama’s response is a hard glare and a curt nod before moving to have his clothes removed by a terrified intern on standby. Hinata stands dumbstruck for  a few more moments as another intern helps him, moving on autopilot.

He _modelled_. For high end street fashion magazine. He is going to be in a _magazine_ , with one of Japan’s best models.

Hinata shakes his head, slipping his shirt and jacket back on. It’s all he can do not to bounce up and down in excitement. He has a job, doing something mildly frightening and absolutely fantastic, he can quit his _awful_ coffee shop job back in Kyoto—

“Hina-chan!” a familiar voice calls. Hinata turns around, jaw dropped and face slack at the face of Oikawa Tooru, designer sunglasses on his head, mask pulled down his chin. “You were amazing!”

It’s been months since they’ve became friends, and Hinata is still starstruck. Oikawa somehow manages to make a thin pink hoodie reminiscent of something out of 2008 and patterned pants look attractive in a room full of models, somehow manages to make a studio filled with camera flashes brighter with just a smile, somehow makes Hinata feel off balance when he’s sure he knows how to walk.

“O-Oikawa? What’re you doing here?” Hinata stammers.

“Surprising you!” Oikawa answers, grabbing Hinata’s hands in his. Hinata is aware of the fact that his hands are still clammy and that Oikawa’s very soft fingers are tangling with his, pulling him towards the door, but his mind stays void of thought besides _touching me, touching me, he’s touching me._

“Hinata, I see Oikawa’s found you,” Kuroo calls from where he leans on the wall, typing something on his phone. “I’ll email you your schedule. You did well today. I’m booking you a ton of Kyoto small scale runway gigs as well as training at an acting school for walks. I think that even though you’re good at shoots, that’s where you’ll shine.” Kuroo shuts off his phone, tucking it into the pocket to turn towards them. “And Oikawa, if you ever want a modelling gig, I’d be happy to make the connection. Offer always stands.”

Hinata watches Oikawa’s smile turn scarily sweet as he shrugs and turns away from Kuroo. “And you know my _terms_ , Kuroo. Good-bye,” is all he replies, venom dripping in his tone as he holds the door open for Hinata. His smile fades into something softer as he walks Hinata to his car.

“You needed a ride to the train station, right?” Oikawa asks. “It’s not a motorcycle, but I’d say she’s pretty.”

The car is sleek, white, with red leather interior and a stick shift. Hinata nods, running his fingers over the glossy paint as he walks around to the other side, meeting Oikawa’s eye as he moves to hop in. It almost feels as if there is a conversation they are avoiding, as if something neither of them know how to word is hanging in the air, unsaid. Hinata settles in the seat, Oikawa doing the same beside him. He doesn't make any move to start the engine, instead reaching for his phone and earbuds, passing them to Hinata.

“I wanna show you something,” Oikawa says, motioning to the earbuds as he flicks through his phone. “I was going to send you a demo of one of the new songs for our comeback, but I’m not satisfied with it yet. So, I figured a cover song would do.” His voice is quick, practiced with a hint of something nervous in his tone. Hinata spots him playing with his hands as he takes the earbuds from him. In silent surprise, Hinata slips the earbuds into each ear, waiting as Oikawa turns on the song.

The first thing Hinata notices is that the cover is in a different style. The soft lull of piano was - electric? subdued? - _muted_ as if played through water as the song begins, familiar enough that Hinata recognizes the melody, but not the song.

_You got me looking, so crazy my baby—_

_Oh_ , Hinata thinks. _That’s what song it is._

Oikawa’s voice sings the upbeat song at half tempo, slow, sensual, with something almost jazzy about the drawl of his voice, the soulful drag of each syllable as he sings. Hinata really hopes the shiver down his spine isn't visible, hopes Oikawa doesn't laugh at the awestruck _o_ his mouth forms as the songs progresses into the chorus. Hinata dares to look up at Oikawa and regrets it, regrets having to catch the expectant look in his eyes, the way he bites his lip in habit as he waits for Hinata to say something.

“W-what made you choose this song?” Hinata stutters, Oikawa’s smooth voice still flowing in and out of his ears.

Oikawa shrugs, the faintest dusts of rose on his cheeks. “I got some...” Oikawa muses, ducking away as he licks his lips. “...inspiration, you could say.” He smirks with tongue between teeth. “I sent the file to you, though, so you can have it.”

“It’s amazing,” Hinata breathes, pulling out the headphones. “Thank you, really.”

Oikawa’s smirk turns into a smile, eyes softening as their fingers brush in the exchange. Hinata wonders, as Oikawa shifts gears and pulls out of his parking space, what made him show him the song before anyone else, what made him send it to him, what made him come to his first shoot alone in disguise. As Oikawa travels the short distance to the station, Hinata can’t help but let his thoughts wander.

Of course, whatever temporary world they’ve built breaks when Oikawa pulls up to the train terminal and turns off the car. Hinata wrings his hands in his lap and unbuckles his seat belt as Oikawa turns to face him. Nothing is said as the two stare at each other, unmoving and silent until Oikawa clears his throat and smiles.

“The others wanted to come, but they’re working still, new album in the works and all. I have to head back to HQ and finish recording. God knows I’m in enough shit for skiving off today,” Oikawa tells him. “But, hey! This new job means you’ll get to see all of us more! And I’ll be able to see you, too!”

Hinata smiles, and in a burst of confidence, leans forward to wrap his arms around Oikawa, pulling him into a hug. Oikawa is quick to pull Hinata closer, arms resting on his hips, humming as Hinata’s nose brushes against his neck. Hinata can smell his cologne, the scent of vanilla from his shampoo, and then he’s pulling away in a nervous second, staring Oikawa in the eye once more.

“I’ll text you on the way back,” Hinata tells him. “Thank you for everything.”

Oikawa’s face swells with a grin. “Thank you, too. Safe travels, Shou-chan.”

Hinata tries not to blush when he leaves. Something flutters when he finally gets on the train, sitting next to Kenma who brought his things. The strange feeling of closeness follows him, and he isn't sure what to think.

—

**_THE NEWEST MODEL UNDER KUROO'S AGENCY_ **

_Anyone curious to who Kuroo Tetsurou’s newest model is can worry no longer. Meet Hinata Shouyou, featured in Tokyo’s Indie Film Festival as an actor, and now signed as a model under a notorious name. His new Galaxxxy adverts, featuring the likes of Kageyama Tobio and Sugawara Koushi, are out now, and show the playful nature of what seems to be a rookie to the scene. Fans of the popular band seij-OH will recognize him as the member’s friend, spotted in instagram posts and in public alike. Many are excited to see how his career turns out._

 

_read comments_

 

 **matsumaki420** **:** now we know who was spotted biking with matsukawa

 **rockmyiwa** **:** Oh man I’m excited, he’s so hot ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

 **peachmakki** : HES SO SMALL IM GONNA DIE… SO SHORT

 **roseykawa** : the only reason he’s a model is because he has famous “friends” but go off i guess

 **kagbaeyama** : he must be really talented to be modelling with kags… damn

 **sugasofly** : galaxxxy is a good fit for him!!! they look great together!!

 **seijwhore7382** : the power of popularity prevails it seems…

—

Hinata lies on his bed, literature homework spread out in front of him. Modelling had been taking up an awful lot of his time, with the amount of street fashion shoots in Kyoto to the small runway gigs for indie designers and the weekly— sometimes biweekly— trips to Tokyo. Kuroo has made schedule of a few more high end brands, Dior, Comme de Garçons, meaning Hinata needed to get as much practice before those shoots. He’s been paired with Sugawara and Kageyama nearly every time he goes to Tokyo, much to Kageyama’s displeasure and Sugawara's glee. Hinata quickly realized that Sugawara wasn’t one to sugarcoat or go easy on you, and Hinata enjoyed the energy they bounced off each other while in shoots. He enjoyed the entire scene in general; it was stressful, busy, and it definitely took time away from his schoolwork.

But despite it all, here he is, laptop balanced on his pillow and the first draft of an essay to be written that he should've started weeks ago. Luckily, he isn’t alone on doing it, with his screen displaying Matsukawa, the most unexpected form of literary help. While Hinata struggles through his thesis, Matsukawa writes what Hinata assumes is rap for the new album into his notebook, carrying idle conversation as he does so.

“You need to stop assuming the reader knows what you’re talking about,” Matsukawa tells him after Hinata reads another paragraph. “How mad do you think Oikawa would be if I put a dick joke in what should be an emotional song?”

“Very,” Hinata replies, looking up to see Matsukawa’s grin through the screen. “And I’m trying to pass, not create a work of art.”

“And you _will_ create art,” Matsukawa shoots back. He leans back in his chair, spinning it around. “How long do you have until it’s due?”

“End of the week.”

“Shit. Yeah, let’s focus on passing.”

Hinata groans, thwacking his head onto the keyboard. “You went to online university for literature. Here I was expecting good advice.”

“Hold that thought, I have a meme I wanna send you,” Matsukawa interrupts. Hinata’s phone blings, and he looks down to watch a video that makes next to no sense while ignoring his essay once more. “Really, though, managing school and modelling sounds like hell. If you ever need help with shit, hit me up. I can always give you a hand,” Matsukawa adds.

Hinata smiles, lifting up his head and resting his chin on his elbows. Matsukawa was sarcastic and deadpan, but he was kind, saying things with such sincerity that it caused a blush to creep up Hinata’s ears. Whether or not he commented on it, Hinata knew Matsukawa always noticed by the self assured grin he casts at the sight, licking his lips before scribbling something down into his notebook. It almost felt like study date. (Not that it’s a _date_ , Hinata reminds himself.) Even without Matsukawa studying with him, it helped to have someone else talking to him, sharing stories and keeping Hinata from tearing out his hair.

Hinata yawns, stretching up and looking at the clock. “Oh, it’s already one am,” he muses, rubbing his eyes. “I have to sleep or else Kuroo will start giving me a curfew.”

“Weak,” Matsukawa teases, tongue between teeth. “It took a few years, but I can fall asleep at three and sleep in, no consequences.”

“ _Matsukawa_ ,” Hinata whines, scrunching up his nose. “That’s because you’re _famous_.”

Matsukawa’s grin widens. “Hinata, you flatter me,” he says. Inching closer to the camera, he sets his notebook down, focusing on Hinata alone. “Go to bed, you need to sleep.”

Hinata grows red at his concern, pushing his textbook off his bed and onto the floor. “I’ll send you the essay to edit when you can,” Hinata tells him.

“And I’ll send you this verse,” Matsukawa says back. “Night, Hinata. Dream about cool guys and me winning shit.”

Hinata shakes his head. “Oh yeah, of course,” he says, rolling his eyes. Dropping the sarcasm, Hinata smiles, meeting Matsukawa’s eyes. “Goodnight, I’ll talk to you tomorrow!”

“Sleep tight,” Matsukawa replies, before ending the call and rending Hinata’s screen black and his room silent.

It’s not unusual for him to call them, his friends, alone now. Speaking one-on-one is different than as a group— not bad, not less fun, but different. He’s been learning things over the months of their friendship, that Matsukawa and Oikawa both stay up until they pass out, but Oikawa is a morning bird, that Hanamaki’s music taste often includes bad 90s pop songs, that Iwaizumi finds dog videos the cutest thing on earth. Sometimes it’s less laughter and more listening— fame brings stress, brings horror stories of paparazzi and fans, brings the constant working environment of four guys with a new mini album highly awaited. Hinata listens, he comforts, he distracts, he tells stories of his own life and his family back home and little things that made him laugh to cheer them up. It’s well, for Hinata, perfectly well, except for the nagging question in the back of his mind.

There’s no reason for them to still talk to him. Hinata lives hours away, has very little to offer besides what he can only assume is comedic value— he’s a once fan and now friend and model, a real punchline for most people. Not only that, but he isn’t special. He’s a single person among millions who, given the chance, would do the exact same thing. A plain face with enough luck to go somewhere because he met famous people. It’s all he’s going to be known for, and it’s all they’ll see him as.

And yet, every time Hinata travels to Tokyo and visits them, whether stopping by their luxurious apartment to crash, or going out to eat, or catching them in the studio, they stare at Hinata with excitement, with happiness, greet him as if they miss him as much as Hinata does them. And it doesn't make sense, because Hinata is nothing in comparison, so dull when put up against people who outshine the spotlight for a living, and it’s exhausting to worry about why they’re still even speaking to one another, why Oikawa sends him demos and asks for his opinion, why Matsukawa helps with his lit homework and why Iwaizumi listens to him complain and Hanamaki makes an effort to compliment every new shoot or walk he does. It’s too far to go without wanting something, without expecting something out of it, and Hinata isn’t sure what that is.

Out of exhaustion, he flops down against his bed, pulling the covers up to his chin and nuzzling his face into the pillow. His walls are bare of posters now, but selfishly, he doesn't miss the faces as much as having the people right beside him. His eyes droop shut beyond control, and Hinata slips into sleep, shelving thoughts that shouldn't matter for another time.

—

The backstage of the _Jarret_ runway is much busier than any Hinata has ever experienced before. He’s ushered to an equally enthusiastic makeup artist, who has a heavy hand with a shimmering grey eyeshadow, blending the hollows of his eyes and keeping the rest of his face relatively bare. She chatters on as she works, not leaving space for Hinata to answer beside the occasional one-word response, and Hinata isn't sure whether or not it’s a tactic to calm him down or if she genuinely likes to talk. Either way, his makeup is completed with two silvery tear tracks and nude lips, the artist trading place with a hairstylist who is much more stone faced in slicking back Hinata’s ruthless hair, forcing it to lay flat. In the end it’s puffier on top, with the sides being the only part staying flat to his hair.

Hinata was only walking a single outfit for this show, which is expected of his first major runway in Tokyo. The people dressing him struggle with the coat— a huge garment that Hinata is already in love with, but it isn’t until they hold up a pair of heels that Hinata begins to grumble.

“It’s because I’m short, isn’t it?” he groans as the intern smiles, fixing the straps around his ankles.

“If you can walk in them, then you’re wearing them,” the intern tells him as Hinata stands, outfit complete with a few extra inches due to the heels. Realistically, he shouldn’t be self conscious— male models wear heels often, it’s apart of the profession— but he’s still a good few inches shorter than everyone else around him. Everyone, that is, except for a model standing in front of a mirror, fixing his own hair.

He’s Hinata’s height, maybe shorter, but it’s hard to tell with the platform shoes he wears. His outfit consists of a ridiculous amount of layers- velvet, denim, and corduroy fabrics mixed together to create an oddly retro look. The boy, however, somehow makes it seem modern, although it could be due to the mess that is his hair. Through the mirror, he spots Hinata staring, and his eyes light up with some kind of wild excitement.

“Hey!” the model exclaims, abandoning the mirror to run towards Hinata. “Heels are awesome, man, but if you don’t know how to walk in them—”

“I do!” Hinata assures him. “It’s just— gah, everyone is so tall, y’know?”

The boy laughs, loud and rambunctious. “Yeah, I do. Walk with me, kid, and get used to the shoes. I’m Nishinoya Yuu, by the way.”

“Hinata Shouyou!” Hinata replies. He doesn't stumble in the shoes, but at the pace Nishinoya is running, he does have to pay attention to how he walks so that he doesn’t fall. “Where are we even going?”

“To fix that awful mess of your hair! Trust me, I’m a stylist too,” Nishinoya shouts, barreling faster through the throngs of models getting dressed.

Hinata really isn't yet desensitized to the surroundings like Nishinoya is. For one, most people are half naked, and Hinata really doesn't know how to feel about the casual attitude of models talking normally in the nude. Not only that, but he has _no idea_ where he’s headed, following someone he’s just met in an unfamiliar place with a half hour before the walk starts.

He somehow ends up on a stool of someone’s makeup table— Nishinoya makes it clear it isn’t his— with his hair being brushed out and made into something a lot softer and a lot less slick. Hinata stares in awe at his reflection before Nishinoya is called elsewhere, leaving him with a simple goodbye.

Hinata lets out a heavy sigh, exhale filled with excitement and anxiety. It’s the big day, the first major walk of his life, with Oikawa, Matsukawa, Iwaizumi, and Hanamaki coming to watch, and even Kenma traveling with him. It would be a long night, and one that he would be sure to never forget.

—

Hanamaki Takahiro was never one to care about arbitrary rules and regulations, nor for doors that read AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY in big, red letters. Really, he assumed he wouldn't be stopped for wandering around backstage alone— Matsukawa was too lazy to leave his cushioned seat, Iwaizumi would never do something as rebellious, and Oikawa, well, had his own reasons. Hanamaki, however, was perfectly fine making his way through the organized chaos of a dressing area, asking both models and makeup artists alike if they had seen Hinata. He was met with half death glares and half starstruck stares. It takes a few minutes, but soon he spots a head of orange hair from an enormous fur coat, belonging to no one else but Hinata. With a grin that could only be described as shit eating and enough self assurance to rival Oikawa, Hanamaki slips an arm around the unsuspecting Hinata’s waist— underneath the coat, of course.

“H-Hanamaki!” Hinata squeals, jumping at the touch. Hanamaki grins and Hinata turns around to face him. “How- what’re you doing back here?”

“Wishing you luck, of course,” Hanamaki explains, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Everyone else was too scared to come back here, so I went by myself. Nice jacket, by the way. Also, you look nice in heels.”

Hanamaki watches Hinata’s face redden to a fuzzy shade of scarlet. He sputters for a moment before shaking his head and laughing, as if in disbelief. It’s cute, Hanamaki realizes, how his nervousness shines through his obvious excitement, how it transfers into the bouncing up and down and stepping back and forth. With a smile, Hanamaki places his hands onto Hinata’s shoulders, rubbing them as if to soothe an ache.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Hinata confesses, smile wide on his face.

“Neither can I,” Hanamaki says. “I mean, I’m backstage with a model at a runway show? Having an actual conversation? And we’re friends? Honestly, it’s unbelievable.”

Hinata laughs, turning his head away. “You’re gonna get in trouble for being back here,” he half whispers, darting his eyes around as if they were hiding.

Hanamaki shakes his head. “They love me, it’s chill. Plus, I’m with you, aren’t I?”

Hinata nods, swallowing thickly as he rocks back and forth on his heels. Anxiety is clear through his movements, emitted through the jitters of his hands and the constant movement of his eyes, facing anywhere but at Hanamaki. Hanamaki sighs, almost fondly, and takes a step closer.

“You got this, Hinata,” Hanamaki tells him. “We’re all rooting for you.”

There’s truth in his every word, and Hanamaki watches the emotions flicker through Hinata’s face before he nods. He opens his mouth to say something only to be cut off by the shouts of the stage manager— a five minute warning call that the show was about to begin.

“Good luck, yeah?” Hanamaki tells him, removing his hands from his shoulders. “Meet you on the other side.”

“I’ll see you!” Hinata calls, walking backwards towards the group of models being looked over before lining up to walk. Hanamaki grins once more, letting himself turn around and dash out of the dressing area and back to his seat where Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Matsukawa await. Hanamaki is peppered with questions as to where he was, but the three are hushed by the dimming of the lights and the beginning of the show.

 _Jarret_ has amazing work, with warm colours and an almost regal style to their line. Despite all of the bright lights and beautiful clothes, Hanamaki knows he and the other three only have eyes for a certain model who has yet to walk. When he does, it’s as if the entire room goes silent.

Hinata [looks stunning](http://68.media.tumblr.com/9e4c3314492ebac44a74ee9679729395/tumblr_omx8xx1ywG1tqvjl0o1_1280.jpg), completely in his element walking down the runway in a pink fur coat, drowning his small frame and making him appear as if he were the rich escort to a wealthy CEO. He wears the same straight faced look that the other’s share, but it’s different almost— the quirk of his lips, the glint of something teasing and playful in his eyes as he makes his way to the front of the stage. Hanamaki dares a glance away from him to gauge the other’s reactions, seeing that even his boyfriend was locked onto Hinata without moving. Hanamaki looks back up as the camera flashes shutter, catching the sheen of his skin and the glimmer of the platinum tear stains on his cheeks, and for a moment, Hanamaki feels like he’s in the presence of someone superior.

As if an emperor, Hinata soon struts away, turning on a dime in his heels and heading back towards where he came. Hanamaki hears Matsukawa wolf whistle as he passes, grins at the antics and fans himself, half for comedic effect and half because Hinata had blown him away.

“I cannot believe I just saw God,” Hanamaki says, leaning back into his chair. It wasn’t as if he hadn't already seen the outfit, but just the _presentation_ \- Hinata’s knowing glare, the way he stopped and stared dead ahead, like a ruler to a kingdom - was enough to make his mind blown.

“God, I’m gay,” Hanamaki hears Oikawa mumble.

“Ditto,” Matsukawa adds. “I didn’t know he could walk in heels.”

“I can walk in heels,” Hanamaki adds. “I can dance in heels.” He pauses to think before cursing under his breath. “Now I’m thinking about Hinata dancing in heels. You think I could teach him?”

Oikawa makes a strangled noise that sounds vaguely like _please_. Hanamaki wishes he had recorded it.

“Yo, Iwaizumi, why so quiet?” Matsukawa jests, knowing the answer already.

“Iwa-chan has had a brain hemorrhage,” Oikawa says, finally regaining some coherency.

Iwaizumi grumbles, face flushed red. “Shut up. We shouldn't be talking. And don’t act like you were any better.”

Hanamaki joins Matsukawa in snickering at the comment before being hushed into semi-respectful silence. Despite his focus on the models making their ways down the runway, Hanamaki’s mind is nowhere else than the model waiting backstage. With a smile on his face, he laces his fingers with Matsukawa’s, resting his head on his shoulder as he waits for the show to end.

—

Hinata stumbles out of backstage with his makeup still on, in a soft jumper and shorts that are probably too short and probably too tight, seeing as they're usually never seen outside of his apartment. However, he is tired, and they were what he brought to change into, so Hinata walks out into the small crowd awaiting him with a smile equal parts overwhelmed and energized.

Kenma is the first to greet him, being the closest. Hinata and him share smiles as Kenma sighs, opening his arms for a rare hug. Hinata throws his arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tight before jumping away.

“Did you like it? Did I do well? You found a seat, right? And a hotel? Surely you’re not traveling back—”

“Calm down,” Kenma assures him, voice quiet. “You did really well. I sat with Kuroo. He’s letting me use one of his guest rooms for tonight. We can both head back in the morning.”

Hinata grins, jumping up and down without reason or care. Kenma sighs at his excitement, not being able to get another word in before Hinata is tackled into a hug by someone else.

“Oh my god, that was amazing!” Oikawa exclaims, rocking Hinata back and forth in his arms. Hinata laughs, enjoying the warmth of Oikawa’s hands on his hips, savouring the touch until he pulls away. “That coat, you looked so good in it, I can’t—”

“Hey, stop hogging him,” Matsukawa butts in, grinning down at Hinata. “You gave him and Iwaizumi an aneurysm with those heels, Hinata. Really, you should pay their medical fees, and mine too. Heart attacks are pretty dangerous—”

“For the love of god, can you compliment him without being weird?” Iwaizumi groans. Hinata laughs, wriggling his fingers as Iwaizumi makes his way towards him. “You did great, Hinata. We all loved it.”

Hinata’s cheeks hurt from smiling so wide, and he can barely feel the heat that rises to his face past the overwhelming sensations around him. By now, people have begun to get up and leave, but every so often someone will walk by and compliment him, or approach Kuroo and point his way. It leaves the weirdest feeling in Hinata’s chest, the acknowledgement and recognition, the praise. Kenma whispers that he’s going to go talk to Kuroo, and Hinata is still on a high— too jittery to question it as he and the others step outside into the fresh air.

Outside, they’re pretty much alone. Most people had retreated to their cars or the parking garage to head away, leaving Hinata and his friends to chill, literally, as the temperature dropped several degrees into the night, outside by themselves. Or at least, partially by themselves, if not for a small gaggle of teenagers giggle a few feet away.

Hinata tilts his head to the side, looking over at them. He recognizes it instantly— fans, so much like his own self months back, amazed at the reality of being only meters from their idols. Hinata smiles in remembrance as Oikawa takes sight of them, excitedly waving towards them.

“Hello! You’re fans, no?” he asks, taking a step closer.

One of the girls nods quickly, eyes widening at his interaction with her. “Yes! Oikawa, oh my god, I love your music. Could you sign this for me?”

Oikawa smiles widely. “Sure! We can take a picture too, if you’d like,” he says, taking a pen from his jacket pocket to sign the girl’s paper.

Her and her friends nod, excitedly whispering amongst themselves. “C-could you all be in it? Is that too much to ask?” The shorter asks.

“I can take the photo!” Hinata chimes in. “I don't mind.”

The shorter girl and her friends seem overly surprised that he spoke to them. While one stares almost starstruck, the shorter glares, eyes steely and almost bitter. Eventually, the shorter’s friend elbows her in the ribs and they agree, passing Hinata their phones to take pictures as they pose. He smiles, confused as to her sour face, but does his best to keep his hands steady before handing them back to their respective owners.

“Thank you so much!” one of the friends says to Oikawa, snatching back their phone from Hinata.

“Stay safe, it’s getting colder,” Iwaizumi adds.

The girl and her friends nod, wishing them farewell before scurrying away. Hinata turns around to meet back up with the others, leaning back against the wall. The entire ordeal seemed a bit much, in Hinata’s opinion-- the fans’ mixed reactions towards his offer to take the photo, their blatant ignorance, but he chalks it up to nerves of meeting their idol, something he could understand.

“You’re so sweet with fans,” Hinata says, looking up at Oikawa and taking a swig of his water bottle.

Oikawa shrugs, smiling wide. “The fans are adorable. Don’t get me wrong, though. You’re our cutest fan Hinata, and I’m _your_ cutest fan.”

Hinata chokes on his water, turning away as some dribbles down his chin. _So much for being a stunning model_ , he thinks, wiping his mouth as his blush deepens. Luckily, Kuroo and Kenma interrupt them before Oikawa’s teasing can go any further.

“So,” Kuroo says, leaning against the bricks. “I’m having a get together at my pent suite. Nothing too fancy, just a few other models and some friends. You guys wanna come? It won’t be wild, I promise.”

Hinata isn't sure what compels him to nod beyond whatever leftover adrenaline is in his system, but Kuroo seems pleased with his answer, laughing as he pulls out his phone to call up a limousine, of all things. While occupied, Hinata sneaks Kenma aside, raising an eyebrow towards him.

“I thought Kuroo, like, annoyed you?” Hinata asks.

Kenma shrugs. “He does, but he’s insistent on networking for me. I have a list of actors and models who want to work with me now.”

Hinata blinks twice, slightly taken aback. “That’s good, I’m glad! But it doesn't explain why you’re going to sleep at his apartment.”

“He offered,” Kenma replies, turning away. “He’s really kind when you get to know him. You’d know, I guess. He’s your boss.”

Hinata nods as the limo pulls up. He’s dragged away by Matsukawa and Hanamaki, who wedges him between them and each throw an arm over his shoulder. Hinata doesn't know how to react about the lack of seat belts in the vehicle or the mini fridge in the corner, but Kenma seems comfortable enough sitting in his own seat with his headphones in, and it’s hard to focus when there's bodies pressed next to his own.

The car ride itself isn’t long at all, and the conversation mainly stays in the Kuroo’s court, who narrates the horror stories of backstage and congratulates Hinata on his success. The attention buzzes like a drug in his veins, but somehow it doesn't feel as sweet as the passing comments from the others— Iwaizumi’s compliments on his face during the walk, Hanamaki’s fawning over his heels— it all felt different in a way, if not better.

—

Kuroo’s penthouse is huge and looks to be that of a millionaire. Objectively, Hinata knows Kuroo is a millionaire. He manages models and actors for a living and grew up with two ridiculously famous and wealthy mothers; of course he’d live in an enormous building. But knowing and seeing are two completely different things.

His apartment has a baby grand piano, a bar, and a _spiral staircase._

Inside, people mill about, laughing and lounging on thousand dollar couches with hundred dollar drinks in their hands. Kuroo smiles politely as he enters, pointing out the washrooms before showing Kenma to where he is staying— he didn't feel the need to socialize in the party.

For a while, Hinata enjoys excitedly milling about, talking to Sugawara and Nishinoya, listening to Oikawa’s stories as he entertains. The party is fun, not too loud, not too crowded, but the adrenaline inside of Hinata soon wears off, making the room louder than it should be, smaller than it could be, and forcing him to escape outside onto the balcony for privacy.

It’s nice outside, even with the wind. Hinata leans up against the rail and looks out across the Tokyo skyline, taking note of the different buildings, spotting HQ’s neon sign from a kilometer away. He rests his chin on the rail, letting the bright light blur into shades of orange and blue, humming a song he knows like his own name. It’s upbeat, but longing, like a last anthem or a tribute to something bittersweet, written by the people he came here with. It’s almost ironic, how after everything, Hinata is still a fan.

The nagging thoughts begin to rise— how Oikawa spoke to the fans so kindly, how they had done the same to him in the beginning. Did Hinata force his way into their lives? Did he trick them into being his friend? To liking him? To accrediting him fame? Hinata shakes the thoughts off. They can’t be true, but it’s hard to argue with your own conscious when the proof points its finger back to you.

“Fancy meeting you here,” a low voice quips, and Hinata feels the tension in his shoulders drop as Iwaizumi approaches, two glasses in his hands. He sets them onto the ledge, leaning next to Hinata and looking out on the city with him.

Hinata smiles softly, running a hand through his styled hair and working some of the gel out. “Needed some air to breathe. What about you?”

“Oikawa got caught by someone and is stuck in conversation, and I’m fairly certain Matsukawa and Hanamaki snuck off to suck face somewhere.”

The comment makes Hinata giggle, pressing his tongue between his teeth as he takes the glass from the ledge and takes a sip. The drink is sweet, slips down his throat smoothly and warms the pit of his stomach enough to relieve the anxiety that had swollen up.

For the most part, the two share silence, enjoying the company of being alone with someone else and the light show of neon in the cities skyline, fireworks of billboards and skyscrapers reaching up towards the sky, creating new stars with the light they give off. Hinata sips idly at his drink, notices how his shoulder brushes Iwaizumi’s when they sway.

“You grew up in Miyagi, right?” Iwaizumi asks. “I heard you mention it awhile ago. It’s funny, because so did I. So did all of us, really, before we moved to Tokyo.”

Hinata turns to look at him, raising his eyebrows. Amazingly, it wasn't a fact he had known. Taking another sip in lieu of an answer, Hinata smiles.

“It’s funny. We could’ve met years before, it’s entirely possible. Where did you live?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Outside of Sendai, more in the country. I went to school at Karasuno, if you have any idea where that is. I had to bike so far to get there, you wouldn’t believe,” Hinata says with a laugh.

“Mm, I know where that is. I don’t know what high school I would’ve attended if I wasn’t taking courses online, being accepted by HQ and all,” Iwaizumi tells him.

“There weren’t any high schools near me, really, so I’d be traveling either way. I never had time for clubs either. My mom is single, and I have a younger sister, Natsu, who is ten now. I love her to death, but I was the babysitter. Mom worked like, three jobs. I could never ask her for a ride, even in the winter.”

Iwaizumi seems surprised at Hinata’s reveal, smiling in something akin to awe as Hinata turns to face him. Neither say anything for a moment, Iwaizumi taking a sip of his drink before speaking again.

“My mom and dad love the ocean. We never lived especially close, but they dreamed of having a house there. In the end, I accepted HQ’s offer because I wanted to work for that, to give them that house,” Iwaizumi says. “They have it now. It’s small, but dad loves it. He has an entire room for his fishing stuff, gets to go out everyday.”

“That’s what I want to do for my mom,” Hinata whispers. “When I get my paycheck from this runway, I’m sending the entire thing back home to her and Natsu. I want to pay them back, make them proud.”

Iwaizumi softens, eyes growing warm with emotion Hinata doesn't recognize. “You’re really special, Hinata. Not many people would do that.”

“You’re awfully philosophical when you have a drink in you,” Hinata comments lightly in an attempt to deflect the praise. It’s too heavy for him to handle somehow, but the sentiment sticks with him as finishes his drink, looking wistfully not towards the view, but to Iwaizumi.

“Do you want to get going?” Iwaizumi asks. “Crash at our place for the night. We’re going to start getting busier from now on, so we may not be able to see each other as much. Plus, there’s practice early tomorrow, and you’re always up before me. You can be my alarm clock.”

Something inside of Hinata tightens, tying his throat in a knot as he nods. Iwaizumi’s smile grows, like a blooming flower in the sunlight, stretching petals towards the sun. It makes everything become saccharine, become sweet, and the lights blur together into amber and the scent of rose perfume and hairspray that Hinata wants to remove. Yet the moment lingers, and in the second before it vanishes, Hinata wishes it would never end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u know i said this would get Juicy but this is the tip of the iceberg! thank you so much for reading, if you wanna talk abut this au shoot mooks ( mooksmookin.tumblr.com) or me (spacegaykj.tumblr.com) and ask and wed be glad to!  
> until next week~


	5. the night that unites us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hyeeeeeeee guys its mooks the beta reader and creator of this au here postin a chap for once
> 
> im so sorry that it's late but heres an Official Announcement from the Mooks Person Themself that updates won't any longer be concrete specifically for thursdays, they'll be uploaded anytime between thursday to saturday. i hope you guys understand!!
> 
> also this chapter is very important chapter and we both wanted it Absolutely Perfect which is why it took so long. apologies for that again!!
> 
> uhhhh anyway that's all i really had to say so i hope you guys are prepared for what's ahead!! enjoy~

_hinata!!!: hey mom, when you get a letter from me, call me before you open it!!_

_mama: Of course sweetie!_

—

_mama: Hey Shouyou, I got your letter in the mail_

_hinata!!!: great!!!! let me call you_

—

Hinata presses the call button, flopping back onto the springs of his bed. The dial only rings once before his mother picks up, voice excited and cheery through the line.

 _“I saw you in a magazine!”_ she exclaims. _“You looked so handsome, I’m so proud.”_

Hinata laughs, rolling over onto his tummy. “Hello to you too, mom. How’s your week been?”

 _“Oh, it’s been lovely. Your sister drew this amazing sketch of the house, we had some neighbours over for dinner yesterday, and the weather is getting a bit better. But what about you? You and your fancy runways and your modelling career and your film festivals— I always knew Kenma would help you out,”_ his mom rambles.

“It’s been busy,” Hinata tells her. “I’ve had a lot of help adjusting to it, but it’s still a lot to handle.”

His mother hums on the other line, and Hinata can picture her face softening into a smile. _“Shouyou, if you ever get too caught up in all this, know you can always call me, alright?”_

“Of course! Which is partly why I sent you a letter,” Hinata explains. “It’s a thank you of sorts.”

 _“Does this mean I can open it?”_ his mom asks, voice bright like a child’s.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Hinata says, and he’s biting his lip to hold back a grin so wide it feels about to burst.

There’s a tense moment of anticipation where Hinata hears her tearing open the envelope, another three beats of silence and a breath of surprise before Hinata hears his mom speak.

 _“Shouyou, I— I can’t take this,”_ she stammers. _“This is hundred of thousands— Shouyou, I—”_

“For everything you’ve done for me,” Hinata says. “It’s the least I can do.”

Hinata listens to her sniffle, wishes he were there to wrap her into a hug. _“You’re my little boy, and you’re all grown up,”_ she sniffs. “ _You don’t need to pay me back. It’s a mother’s job.”_

“But I want to!” Hinata insists. “It’s my first modelling check. I thought it’s only right to go to my biggest supporter.”

Hinata’s mother laughs, shaky through what Hinata assumes are her tears. _“Natsu is pretty close on that. She idolizes you, you know,”_ she tells him. Taking a deep breath, she steadies herself. _“Thank you, Shouyou.”_

Hinata feels his heart warm. “Thank _you_ , mom.”

 _“Just let me say one thing,”_ his mother says. “ _I know you’re enjoying yourself, and you’re living your dream with your idols, traveling to the big city, hanging with the stars, but promise me you’ll be careful, alright?”_

“What do you mean?”

_“It’s a big world out there, darling. I don’t want you to get too caught up in things with the wrong people. You’re in a place where there’s so much happening, and I’m just scared you’ll get hurt.”_

Hinata feels something drop in his stomach, like a sickening stone of dread. “I’m scared too,” he whispers. “But I’m strong, I’ll be okay.”

 _“Just don’t be afraid to let things go or evolve,”_ his mother tells him. _“This is a big change in your life, you shouldn't have to fight certain things. Let it happen, Shouyou. I’ll support you the whole way.”_

“I promise,” Hinata tells her, meaning each and every syllable. Somehow just saying it worsens the ache in his chest, the deep, guttural feeling of emptiness he doesn't feel accustomed to.

 _“Good,”_ his mother says, and Hinata can hear the love in her voice. _“Now, tell me about that coat you wore. It looked quite heavy.”_

Hinata forces the ache away and smiles. For his mother, it can wait.

—

Hinata gets out of his shoot at six-thirty pm, tired from a full day of shooting in rather awkward positions. The shoot today had several photos taken in a bathroom set, with Hinata, Sugawara, and another silvery blonde haired model— Alisa— squeezing into a bathtub. The clothes themselves were beautiful, but Hinata could do without the kinks in his neck.

After the shoot comes to a close, Hinata changes into a soft, tawny knit sweater, pushing the sleeves up so that he can tie his boots. Beside him, Sugawara zips up their bag, humming softly.

“Hey, Hinata,” they ask, standing up. “Me and some others— Noya, Alisa and her girlfriend, some of my friends— are gonna head out for dinner. You wanna tag along?”

Hinata shakes his head. “I would, but I’m going out myself,” he tells them.

Sugawara raises a brow. “You and Oikawa doing something?”

“N-no!” Hinata stutters, realizing what Sugawara was trying to imply. “I’m not— it’s all of us. Matsukawa, Hanamaki, Iwaizumi, Oikawa. We’re going out for ice cream.”

Sugawara smile changes into something a little more mischievous as they hoist their bag up on their shoulder. “Well, have fun then,” they chime, waving Hinata goodbye.

Hinata watches him leave, only slightly confused by what Sugawara was trying to say. Shaking off the encounter, Hinata heads out of the building, makes his way downtown and towards the subway to catch a train to the pier. It’s nearing sunset, the sun sagging lower and lower with every passing minute. The days are short now, dwindling hours away into darkness before Hinata is ready. For now, he plugs in his headphones and tunes out the drone of the underground.

When he exits to the surface, it’s to spot Matsukawa and Iwaizumi, masks still pulled over their mouths, Iwaizumi sporting a snapback and Matsukawa a beanie. Hinata waves to them as he jogs over, grin wide and stomach bubbling with excitement as they spot him, pulling off their masks.

“About time,” Matsukawa teases, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Really, how long does it take to undress? Do you need a h—”

“It’s good to see you,” Iwaizumi says, cutting off Matsukawa. “How’d the shoot go?”

“Great!” Hinata tells them. “Long, but a lot of fun. I’ve been anxious for today.” He looks around, expecting to see Oikawa and Hanamaki lurking around the corner. “Where’s the others?”

“Oikawa and Makki wish they could’ve been here,” Matsukawa says as they start to cross the street and head for the ice cream parlour. “Unfortunately, singing takes more time than rapping and Oikawa is being anal about perfecting his performance. They had to hang back at the studio— they’re gonna be wiped tonight.”

Hinata suddenly feels bad for his bout of selfishness, but bites back the surprise in favour of making the most of going out as a trio. “I hope they get some rest then,” he says, brightening his tone.

“Shimizu used to impose a bedtime when we were training for this reason,” Iwaizumi reminisces. “Even in the early days we would have to be in bed by nine.”

Hinata giggles at the thought of a world famous boy band having a bedtime. He shakes his head as Matsukawa opens the parlour door for him. “Now that’s hard to imagine.”

“Oh, I don’t think any of us listened,” Matsukawa tells him. “I know I didn’t. What flavour do you want? I’m buying.”

Hinata tries to protest, but Matsukawa doesn't budge, staring him down with a quirked brow. He sighs, stomach fluttering again as he answers. “Cookie dough.”

“Espresso for me,” Iwaizumi says.

“And I will get green tea,” Matsukawa finishes, relaying the order to a wide eyed cashier. She nods, mouthing something to the other worker as they make their ice cream cones, not so secretly giggling at the sight of celebrities. In all honestly, Hinata doesn’t notice much, taking his ice cream from them with a smile and excitement, skipping back outside and towards the docks with only the thought of destressing with friends and sugary foods on his mind.

Together, they make their way to the pier, Hinata busying himself with devouring his ice cream as they find a bench to sit on. Twilight hovers over the horizon of the water, painting the skies with oranges that fade into blues, mixing with the water that laps at the edge of the city. As Hinata begins to eat his ice cream, he hears the familiar shutter of a camera in the distance. As he turns around, he spots a man in a black coat with a large camera, taking a multitude of photos as they sit.

“Paparazzi,” Iwaizumi groans. “Ignore them.”

“Hinata, over here!” the photographer shouts. Hinata raises a brow as he looks at Iwaizumi, confused as to why they called for him.

“Can’t believe you’re outshining us, Hinata,” Matsukawa jests, licking his ice cream.

Hinata’s cheeks turn red out of shyness, as he turns away from the pap to eat his ice cream  cone, pretending as if the man isn't there. Iwaizumi quickly catches onto his discomfort, standing up and leading Hinata away from the man and down the pier. Hinata can’t help but feel bad for being the reason they have to move, but by then it’s too late to protest. Iwaizumi retells something that happened in the studio early in the day, and it’s enough to distract him from the photographer they were able to lose, but also from Matsukawa, who leans over to take a bite of his ice-cream for himself.

“Hey!” Hinata cries, laughing as Matsukawa plays innocent, keeping a straight face.

“Don’t know what you're talking about,” Matsukawa says. “I just had to make sure it wasn't poisoned or anything.”

“Sure,” Hinata drawls, rolling his eyes.

“You’re so full of shit, Matsukawa,” Iwaizumi says as Hinata goes back to licking his own cone. Iwaizumi turns to face Hinata pursing his lips. “You got something on your cheek,” he murmurs.

Hinata freezes as Iwaizumi swipes a thumb over his cheek, brushing away whatever ice cream had dripped there. He can feel his face heating up hot enough to melt the cone in his hands, and Hinata watches his own vision blur as Iwaizumi leans closer. A million thoughts enter his mind, but they're all interrupted by the sound of Matsukawa wolf whistling. Hinata jumps away, and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, looking towards Matsukawa much like a disapproving parent would. Matsukawa only smirks shrugging his shoulders in response.

Hinata, in effort to cool of his ever red cheeks, takes another bite of his ice cream. Although it’s not everyone, it’s just as nice to spend time with these two together. He smiles, watching the sky fade into the night. All in all— not a bad way to end a day.

—

At the time, Hinata wasn’t aware that that’d be one of the last times he would get to spend time with his friends in a group. The next time he gets to Tokyo, he’s barely able to squeeze into the dance studio while Hanamaki practices alone, making conversation while asking Hinata for opinions on different movements.

“I just need to get a general idea of what I’m doing,” he tells him. “We’ve got our title track completely finished, but it’s not approved so it might change, meaning the choreo might change. I need two more counts of eight done by today so we can get _that_ approved.”

Hinata nods as Hanamaki continues counting, moving his body in smooth, fluid motions. Hinata coughs, flicking his eyes to his shoes.

“I really like how this looks so far,” he says in what he hopes is an encouraging voice. “From what I’ve seen, at least.”

“Really?” Hanamaki asks, tone shifting into something more exciting as he pauses. “I’m glad you aren't bored to death right now.”

“Of course I’m not!” Hinata exclaims. “This is like, the coolest thing ever. You’re so focused and sharp— like _bam_ and _pow_ — how do you do it?”

“Practice,” Hanamaki laughs. “Alright, give me fifteen more minutes. Then we can grab something to eat.”

Hinata nods, quieting down and indulging in the simple pleasure of watching Hanamaki make music in a silent room with just his body, performing as if he were in front of a stadium and not an audience of one. He slips up once or twice, face scrunching up as he tries to remember what the next move is, but never freezes, continuing to move through the movements, regaining the trademark ear to ear grin across his face.

When he finishes, Hinata applauds, cheering loudly as Hanamaki takes a mock bow. He swoops down and grabs his water, chugging it with earnest before wiping his brow and collapsing down next to Hinata. Hinata laughs and Hanamaki groans, moving to stretch out his arms.

“You wanna go somewhere cool?” Hanamaki offers, dropping his arms and pushing away his water bottle. Hinata agrees embarrassingly fast, bouncing up to a stand and helping Hanamaki off the floor.

He leads him towards a small lounge area, pulling open a fridge and grabbing a small fruit and vegetable platter and two cans of soda, tossing one to Hinata.

“Is the fridge what you wanted to show me?” Hinata teases.

Hanamaki shakes his head. “Nah, this is a lot cooler.”

They end up in the elevator, Hanamaki hitting the button for the top floor. Hinata’s brows raise— the top floor is where the CEO’s offices are, and he can’t imagine what Hanamaki would want from up there. Crossing his fingers behind his back, Hinata can only pray they don’t run into Daishou Suguru again.

Once they reach the highest floor, Hanamaki leads him through a door marked ROOF ACCESS AHEAD. He holds it open as Hinata sneaks through, climbing up the narrow stairwell and pushing open the roof hatch. With Hanamaki behind him, he steps out onto the roof of the building, wind blowing through him, neon signs of all of the buildings around him vibrant and bright.

“Nice view, huh?” Hanamaki comments, sitting down and opening up his pop can. “I come up here to cool off. It’s the best at night, when you can see the lights.”

Hinata sits down next to him, following his gaze and staring out at the city and it’s nightlife. It’s far from quiet— the wind is loud enough they almost have to shout, and the cars, trains, and buses down on the streets can still be heard from the top of the building. He feels the tension ease from his shoulders as Hanamaki passes him a can of soda, already opened, gulping down the refreshing sweetness and leaning back onto an elbow.

“I’m glad we get to hang out before you head back to Kyoto. We’ve just been getting so busy,” Hanamaki says, popping a piece of melon into his mouth from the tray. “And I’m glad you don't mind that it's like this,” he tells him, gesturing to the precariousness of their situation.

“It’s cliché, being up on a rooftop,” Hinata confesses. “But I like it. I’m glad I’m here with you too.”

Hanamaki smiles, looking away as he takes another sip. “This new album is gonna be amazing. I really want you to like it,” he says. “It’s got a classy vibe to it. A bit darker, but it shimmers.”

Hinata isn't one hundred percent sure what Hanamaki means, but his words bring the image of crystal chandeliers and renaissance galleries to mind— expensive suits, modern clothes, timeless surroundings.

Out of either exhaustion or respect for the calm silence, the two stay quiet, sharing fruit and looking out at the city. Hanamaki, every so often, tells stories— wild, imaginative stories— of his first time in Tokyo, of how scared he was to even enter HQ despite dancing in the city for years, of how he rolled his ankle the first time wearing pointe shoes and how, one day, he wants to teach Hinata to dance. It makes Hinata choke on his drink, renders him more inept that he’d be likely to admit, but Hanamaki just smiles and laughs, wind chimes and bells, rests an arm on his shoulder and steals a sip of his drink. Hinata is too dazed to think about it, slipping in and out of a half-sleep from tiredness.

“You up, sleepy head?” Hanamaki whispers into his ear, teasing smirk as bright as ever as he cleans up their trash. “C’mon, let's get you home.”

If Hinata doesn't protest, and if his eyes wander across Hanamaki’s face for a moment too long to be normal, looking for the freckles that haze his cheekbones, it’s a secret he can memorialize as a sleep hazed dream.

—

It doesn't upset him— the fact that the boys are much busier now. An album is on the way, so of course they’re going to be busy. Hinata gets that, but it doesn't change the tummy churning feeling of calling seven times in one day and not having any of his calls picked up.

Texting is a little better. To the group chats, replies come frequent, but short— some longer conversation can be had at odd hours of the night when they’re finally back from the studio, but by then Hinata’s well into his dreams and not awake to have them. What phone calls he has with them are few and far between, but it’s better than the zero contact with Oikawa he’s had in _days_.

So Hinata tries to contact him instead, probably annoying the hell out of Oikawa in the process. It’s at two-thirty am, while he’s fighting sleep, praying that he’ll even get a text back, that his phone finally rings. He snatches it up with earnest, answering it with a breathy _hello_ that sounds much too eager for the time of night.

 _“Shou-chan? You picked up?”_ Oikawa mumbles. His voice is sleep ridden, as if he has just woken up. _“One sec, let me clean up my producing stuff.”_

Hinata blinks away the surprise at him answering, settling back into his bed. “You’re producing this late?”

 _“Spent the day in the studio recording, had a live stream for the fans when I got home,”_ Oikawa says. _“I wanted to get at least another thirty seconds of this song done. Gave into exhaustion twenty-seven seconds in.”_

Hinata smiles softly, flopping against his pillows. “You can go to sleep if you want, I don’t want to keep you up,” he tells him.

 _“No, no. I wanna talk to you,”_ Oikawa hums. _“How was your day? Any shoots?”_

“Runway practice. I have a test in a few days, so I went to class for once.”

_“You skip often?”_

“Yeah, but it’s fine. I can see what’s due when ’n stuff,” Hinata tells him.

Oikawa pauses before responding. _“You haven't consider finishing online?”_

Hinata sighs. “I have, it’s just— I gotta pass this term first,” he says. “But you don’t have to worry. How’s the big city?”

 _“Big,”_ Oikawa replies. _“Lonely, without you. I’ve been too busy. I really want to see you.”_

Hinata’s cheeks heat up, mind becoming devoid of comprehensive sentences to say. It’s too late to figure out what Oikawa means, not when he’s yawning, forcing his eyelids not to drop.

 _“You’re tired,”_ Oikawa notes. _“Shou-_ chan _, you need to sleep.”_

“Mmmm,” Hinata drones. “You do too.”

For a moment, neither speak, listening to the other breathe through the receiver. Hinata wonders if Oikawa has hung up, or fallen asleep until he hears a shuffle on the other end.

 _“Goodnight, Shou-chan. I...”_ Oikawa whispers. There's a lull of silence where his breath is held before he speaks again, and somehow, his voice is even softer. _“Sweet dreams.”_

Hinata blinks, languid and heavy. For some reason, he can’t remember what he says in reply.

—

Hinata stares down at the test in his hands, turning it over in his hands. The score in the top corner makes his stomach flip, and not in a good way either. He’s failed, and only by a fraction of points. Hinata wilts, not sure what to think. It was no use asking his teacher to bump his mark— not when he’s tries four times before with no avail. He supposes, with a heavy sigh as he slumps onto a campus bench, that the only thing to do would be extra credit or acing the next one.

With a groan, Hinata pulls out his phone, stuffing the test back into his bag with haste. He flicks through his contact list, letting his finger hover over Matsukawa’s name. It’s midday— lunchtime, almost— Hinata has good chances of them being able to talk. He figures it should be Matsukawa he tells first, after all, he was the one who he sought help from in the first place. Even so, as his dial tone rings, Hinata feels the familiar surge of nerves that always comes when trying to broach the subject of speaking to Matsukawa. It doesn't help that the topic is a failed test.

Hinata kicks his feet against the ground, listening to the drone of the ring. It’s unexpected when he hears it end, slipping into the pre-recorded voicemail message Matsukawa has set on his phone, leaving Hinata without someone to talk to and a distinct kind of feeling settling over him, as if he were powerless.

Hinata drums his hands on the case of his phone, staring at the failed call that flashes across his screen. Maybe he was just naïve for thinking he could keep up with them all in the first place. Odds are he was just annoying at this point, for calling when they must be in studio, for taking up their time. Hinata tucks his phone back in his pocket, flipping up his hood. He doesn't really want to think about that, not right now.

—

_matsukawa( ͡° ͜°): hey i saw you called, i thought you knew i was recording?_

_matsukawa( ͡° ͜°): sorry about that lmao_

_hinata!!!: no its all fine !_

_matsukawa( ͡° ͜°): any reason you called?_

_hinata!!!: nah, dont worry about it_

—

 _There’s always another edge to the platinum sword._ It’s something Kenma wrote or quoted in a film years ago, and it sticks with Hinata as he scribbles down study notes after another failed test. He knew it was coming— he hardly had time to catch up on the lessons with Kuroo’s hellish schedule, but the disappointment still sticks as he flicks through the few notes he has, Kenma beside him, working on a script. Hinata groans, pushing away his work in favour of checking his phone. After scrolling through several blogs in attempt to ignore his work, he comes across a post with an odd title.

**_Fame, Fortune, and Why I Don’t Trust “Friends”_ **

_posted by_ _seijknowing_

_Many know Hinata Shouyou, rookie model under Kuroo Tetsurou, known more widely as “the seij-OH friend” who has been circulating on their social media for the past few months (since April???)_

_At first, I wasn’t sure what rubbed me the wrong way about Hinata. He’s cute, small, with a seemingly bubbly and “innocent” personality that many like. However, I have found the root of all problems. Hinata Shouyou is using seij-OH for his own gain. Think about it: he was absolutely no one before he met them, and now he’s one of the most talked about models. You expect me to believe he’s not playing on them?_

_It’s really gross how people like Hinata use idols for popularity with no concern for their own anatomy. Really, a talentless leech like him won’t survive long in the industry anyways, so whats it for me to care?_

_read comments_

 

 _Oh_ , Hinata thinks _. So this is what people think._

It’s two different sensations, assuming you’re hated and realizing you are. One is like having bricks stacked on your shoulders, the other having bricks fall into the pit of your stomach, ripping through the lining and making your insides flip. He never thought about the fans, about the people who follow and worship seij-OH just like him. Now, as he stares down at the screen, Hinata can’t help but ask himself how he hadn’t seen it coming.

“Have you seen this?” Hinata asks Kenma, handing him the phone. Kenma takes it from him, skirting through the article in a few seconds.

“No,” Kenma says. “You should ignore it. It’s just a rumour, you know it isn’t true.”

Hinata nods, taking the phone back and setting it face down on the ground. It’s hard to refocus on his homework when his brain keeps repeating the message of the post, keeps reminding him of the fears in his head.

That’s the thing— Hinata isn't sure that it’s not true. He can almost see reason within it, can almost see how his friendship with the band could easily just be a ticket to fame, could understand why the fans would hate him so much. It makes perfect sense, coincides with the nagging idea of confusion behind why they would be friends with him in the first place.

He’s annoying, loud, obnoxious, overshares in the wrong situations and brushes off his problems when he should probably make them known. It makes him weak, makes him seem smaller than he already is at five feet four inches, like an ant next to people with their lives sorted out, getting things handed to them when he’s worked twice as hard. Exhaustion creeps in before he can help it, suffocating the worry with tiredness as Hinata leans back against the couch. He doesn’t want to be hated by their fans, doesn’t want to be seen as manipulative, a leech.

There is no reason for people like Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki to be friends with him when they could have anyone they want, when they already have each other. Hinata looks back down at his homework and wonders why he even tries to keep up in the first place.

—

Kuroo Tetsurou was probably a madman. Hinata was almost certain. For one, he scheduled an enormous cover shoot for a big name brand on a week where Hinata was already busy, meaning he had to commute to Tokyo twice in five days. It wasn’t the craziest part— it was requested that he and Kageyama Tobio model together for the shoot.

So here he is, in a black fringe jumper, completing solo shoots while the bubbling discomfort of all of his worries sits low in his stomach.

“So moody, Hinata, I love it!” the photographer yells.

Hinata doesn't feel moody, doesn't feel angry as his glares may seem. He shifts to another position, letting his thighs spread as he looks the camera dead centre with what he prays isn't an empty gaze. He feels anxious, feels like he’s everything and nothing at once. The oohs and ahhs of the camera man that usually make him beam with pride wash right off of him, doing nothing to take away from the stress of realizing how little he probably means to the people who means most. At the very least, his exhaustion channels into an expression that the photographer gobbles up and Kageyama begrudgingly likes.

Hinata moves off set to be undressed and change into his outfits for the group pictures. It’s a mess of leather, fur, and fishnets that carries a style Hinata dubs biker-glamour chic. He’s not one hundred percent desensitized to being stripped by complete strangers yet, but in the moment he isn’t present enough to be embarrassed by his nakedness as they slip the tights over his legs and zip the leather shorts up. Beside him, Kageyama adjusts his jacket, grumbling to himself.

“How are we supposed to be rivals when we work together?” he mutters. Hinata huffs in reply as the intern buckles his heels. “I guess I’ll just have to outshine you in group shots,” Kageyama grumbles, walking past him off set.

Hinata can already sense his confusion at his lack of response. Normally the jest would have them at each other’s necks, but today Hinata’s annoyance is left sitting under the surface of his skin, keeping him from reacting beyond a silent rumble.

For the group photos, it’s easier to act angry than it is anything else, so Hinata lets his mouth tilt into a scowl, a pout, leans against Kageyama’s shoulder with a scowl. He can feel tension building in his shoulders, and forces himself to drop them as the camera flickers. Kageyama shoves him slightly as they switch positions, and Hinata has to keep himself from flipping him off. If it were any other day, he’d be one to tease Kageyama for his attitude, but today it leaves him with a matching scowl.

Luckily, the photos turn out, even if the photographer has to yell for them to stand closer every three seconds. Hinata moves off set, ready to get something to drink and head to sleep, not wanting to spend another minute standing. His general quietness seems to create tension among the interns, who have now grown almost used to his bubbly nature.

It’s a matter of time before Kuroo notices, and when he does, Hinata can tell by the narrowed eyes and the shift of his posture. Hinata’s eyes widen, and as much as he tries, he knows he can’t avoid whatever conversation Kuroo wants to have.

“Hinata,” Kuroo says, waving away the intern that was undressing him. “You know you can let me know if the stress of travelling down here is too much.”

Hinata blinks twice in surprise, not expecting this reaction. “N-no, it’s not that—”

“I can always pay for an apartment in Tokyo, too,” Kuroo offers. “And you can work full time here.”

Hinata sighs, rubbing his face and smudging the mascara that lined his eyes. “Kuroo, I’m fine, I promise.”

“You’re dead on your feet. I’m booking the next week off, Hinata. That’ll give you some time to mull things over. Really, you need rest. You’re new to all of this and it’s got to be hard,” he tells him.

Hinata tries to protest, but Kuroo makes no room for arguing, having already turned away to talk with the photographer. It leaves a sick taste in his mouth, that he was already losing the one thing he was good at, the one thing that made him special. Hinata threw his sweatshirt back on, pulling on his shorts over the fishnet tights (a perk of modelling— free clothes from time to time) and left without so much as a goodbye.

Hinata exits the building with a punch to the gut. It wasn't like this was a surprise. He expected this, knew it was coming, knew he wasn't nearly as good as everyone thought he seemed. Of course Kuroo would catch on soon enough, of course seij-OH’s fans would hate him, of course he’d end up ruining his best friend’s reputation with a rumour of him using them— and for what? A short lived modelling career that ends in being dropped with a failed semester of university and no money to pay the fees?

Hinata heads straight for the train station, ignoring the buzz of his phone. It was too good to be true in the first place.

—

It’s late evening when Iwaizumi gets out of the studio, fingertips hurting from working with the guitar, throat dry from recording. It’s crunch time for producing the album, meaning longer days and more hours in the studio. By now, he’s used to it. After six years of being in the group, it’s almost become routine. After a quick stop to pick up some evening coffee to keep himself from falling asleep on his feet, Iwaizumi meanders back to his apartment, not bothering to hail a cab.

The days themselves have started to dwindle in daylight, autumn bringing longer nights and cooler mornings. Iwaizumi shivers in his jacket, taking a sip of his coffee despite the burn it leaves on his tongue as he walks a little faster to escape into the warmth of his building.

The apartment he shares with Oikawa, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa is near the top, with two floors and three bedrooms. It’s only downside is the draft from the windows that Iwaizumi has never be able to fix, leaving a constant chill in the air and a breeze that tends to knock things over. Iwaizumi hangs up his coat, kicks off his shoes and heads straight to his room, ready to curl up and unwind. It’s only once he does just that, checking his phone in search of something to do, that it strikes him how long it’s been since he’s called Hinata. With a new idea in mind and a prayer that he isn’t busy, Iwaizumi presses call and listens to the dial tone as he waits for Hinata to pick up. It’s nearly six rings before Hinata does.

 _“Hello?”_ Hinata asks. His voice is soft, a little bit tired, a lot more worn than Iwaizumi was used to hearing.

“Hey, Hinata,” Iwaizumi greets. “Did I wake you up?”

There’s shuffling on the other end for a few seconds before Hinata replies. _“No, I was just finishing some literature homework. Was there any reason you called?”_ he asks.

Iwaizumi smiles. “I just wanted to talk to you, is all. How was your day?”

 _“Boring,”_ Hinata whines. _“Kuroo doesn't have me scheduled for anything this week, so I’m stuck doing homework.”_

Iwaizumi rolls onto his stomach, imagining Hinata with a pout on his face, rubbing his eyes in tiredness. He feels his cheeks redden and forces the image out of his mind as he speaks. “You were in Tokyo last week, right? I’m sorry I didn’t get to say hi before you left.”

There’s a few seconds of tense silence that pass where Iwaizumi considers checking if Hinata is still there before he replies. _“I was busy, had a test the next day.”_

Now Hinata _does_ sound tired, defeated. Iwaizumi sits up, crossing his legs and furrowing his brow. “Hinata, are you feeling okay? You sound a bit… off,” Iwaizumi says.

 _“I’m fine,”_ Hinata replies immediately. _“Actually, I was starting this essay when you called, so— I need to go. I’ll call you.”_

Iwaizumi tries to say some kind of goodbye, but the drone of the dial is already playing, signally that Hinata had hung up. Iwaizumi looks down at his phone, confusion riddling his features as to what could cause Hinata to leave that fast. It was obvious he was hiding something, and Iwaizumi wasn't sure if he’d be overstepping to call back. Biting his lip, Iwaizumi sends a quick text message to Hinata instead.

_Iwaizumi Hajime: Hey, if you ever want to talk, you can message/call me. I really don’t mind_

_Iwaizumi Hajime: I hope you feel better soon_

There isn’t much he can do besides send the messages and wait, placing his phone on his bedside table. There’s a strange kind of tension in the air, and Iwaizumi can feel his worry, tangible in the four walls of his bedroom. Whatever is wrong, it’s something that’s forcing Hinata to lie boldfaced, pull away and _hide_. Iwaizumi doesn't like it, doesn't like the thought of Hinata curled up and feeling lonely. It twists something inside him, makes him fear for what could be happening.

That night, sleep comes neither quick nor easy for Iwaizumi. His phone lays on the bedside table, not having gone off once, and the more he thinks about the lack of reply, the more antsy he gets. It’s four in the morning when he finally gets fed up with tossing in his sheets and gets out of bed, walking downstairs towards the kitchen.

In the end, he turns on the coffee pot and sprawls out on the couch, shutting his eyes out of exhaustion. He has a full day at the studio tomorrow, and he can’t afford to be up this late, but it’s undeniable that he wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep if he tried.

—

“Do you think that there’s something up with Hinata?” Iwaizumi asks the next morning, once Kiyoko signals for a break, reaching for his water bottle. “He’s been… distant. He hung up on me when I called.”

Matsukawa raises a brow. “Seriously? I assumed it was just stress, but now that you mention it...”

“He’s been acting really strange,” Hanamaki finishes. “It’s been, like, a week since he messaged me. I’ve texted him, but he hasn’t replied.”

“You sure Kuroo hasn't overworked him?” Matsukawa asks.

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “No, he said Kuroo booked this week off,” he says.

“It must be so overwhelming,” Matsukawa says. “I mean, he was kind of thrown into this whole industry with no warning.”

Beside him, Oikawa curses under his breath. The room turns to him, who had stayed silent the entire time, awaiting some kind of explanation for his look of almost frustration.

“I should've noticed it sooner,” Oikawa mutters. “Of course he’s overwhelmed. He’s probably got people breathing down his neck now. Six months ago he was a college student and now Vogue Japan wants to meet him. Not to mention he’s still in school, still has to commute, has to deal with fans-- ours and his. That’s gotta be hard on a person, and it’s almost like _we_ ourselves forgot how hard it is.”

“What do you mean?” Hanamaki asks.

“I mean we ended up expecting him to slip into this lifestyle, to become used to it way quicker than he should. You’re throwing him into a boiling pot, of course he’s gonna burn.”

The anxiety in the room is instantly palpable, in the finality of Oikawa’s tone, in the way Matsukawa’s hands have completely stilled. Iwaizumi looks from Oikawa to the others in attempt to figure out a plan in his head.

“So what do we do?” Matsukawa questions.

“Nothing rash,” Iwaizumi answers immediately, looking purposefully towards Oikawa. “For all we know, we could be overthinking this.”

Oikawa purses his lips, shifting his weight. “ _Or,_ we could be hitting the nail right on the head. I think you know which one it is.”

“Be rational. We don’t want to overwhelm him anymore than he already is,” Iwaizumi warns, lowering his voice.

“We can’t just drop everything and go to Kyoto,” Hanamaki adds. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re in the middle of producing an album, and he’s still a student. Shimizu would have our asses if we ditched.”

Oikawa challenges their stares, chewing on his lip. “Fine,” he declares. “I won’t do anything ‘rash’, as you so put it. Now let's get back to recording so we can find out another way to fix all of this.”

Iwaizumi nods, watching as Oikawa takes a sip of his water and rolls out his neck. For some reason, he has a strong feeling that he is lying.

—

Oikawa is undoubtedly, one-hundred percent lying, and doesn’t really care that the others could probably tell. In all honesty, none of it really matters. He can bring his laptop and his producing equipment on the train with him, can probably finish a few songs and tweak a few others on the ride, and definitely get just as much done as he would in the studio while supporting Hinata the best he can.

All that is left to do was find a way to sneak out and get there without being physically held back.

The rest of the day is hellish, to say the least. After recording, Hanamaki drags them to the studio to practice, meaning an extra two hours of rehearsing choreography. By the end of it, Oikawa was closer to sleep than he was to standing, legs like jelly and brain ready to hit the lights. In retrospect, it was probably an attempt to keep him from doing anything, lagging down his impulses with sheer exhaustion, but Oikawa knew better than to fall for his friend’s tricks.

A nap on the car ride home, a bathroom break in which he bought the ticket, and ten minutes of packing a duffel bag with whatever clean clothes he could find is all he needs to be set. His plan is in motion and working out perfectly, all until he hears the knob of his door turn. Oikawa immediately kicked the bag under the bed and laid down on the haphazardly made covers, pulling out his phone to look busy just as Iwaizumi walks through the door.

“Well, hello Iwa-chan!” Oikawa sings.

Iwaizumi stares at him blankly. “Drop the act, Shittykawa. What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Oikawa hums, rolling over onto his back.

“Really?” Iwaizumi asks, sounding unconvinced. “What’s that strap sticking out from under your bed then?”

 _Shit_ , Oikawa thinks, peering over his bed to see the strap of the duffel bag sticking out. He looks back up to the awaiting Iwaizumi and flashes a smile, a lie already forming in his head.

“Would you believe me if I said it was my collection of high-tech sex toys?” Oikawa asks with a smile, batting his eyelashes. He mentally curses himself for coming up with such a ridiculous fib, praying that his blush at such an obvious lie doesn't give him away as Iwaizumi wrinkles his face. There’s a few beats of silence before Iwaizumi sighs, pinching the bridge for his nose.

“If you’re gonna lie, then I’m telling Hanamaki and Matsukawa about this,” he tells him. “Either you’re being honest and they find the best blackmail material of their lives in a second, or you’re lying and they tear apart your room looking for it.”

Oikawa feels something inside of him wither at the thought of returning to his room in shambles. “Good thing I’m not lying!” he chirps as Iwaizumi turns away, closing the bedroom door behind him.

Once he’s gone, Oikawa lets out a sigh of relief. As he pulls the bag from under his bed, he thinks of how going to see Hinata is worth more than any reprimand, thinks of how everything will be worth it to know if he’s alright. Oikawa wants to hear him laugh, needs to see him smile. The rest can wait.

—

“That motherfucker,” Hanamaki mutters with a grin on his face as he looks down at the note taped to Oikawa’s bedside table.

_To whom it may concern,_

_I was lying~_

_—Oikawa_

“What do we do now?” Matsukawa asks, reading over it again.

Hanamaki shrugs. “Oi, Iwaizumi,” he calls. “When’s the next train to Kyoto?”

From where he leans on the door frame, Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, visibly forcing himself not to smile. Somehow, he knew it would come to this.

—

“Shouyou?” a quiet voice calls through the living room. Hinata jolts up from where he was sleeping in the living room, blinking away the head rush to see Kenma standing in front of him. He’s got the particular kind of worried expression on his face that he usually saves for big crowds and strangers, eyes wide like a deer and eyebrows pulled worriedly together.

“Hm, yeah?” Hinata mumbles in response. He knows he looks as terrible as he feels— he hasn’t brushed his hair or teeth, wearing spandex shorts and the same oversized hoodie from the day before. Kenma’s face softens slightly at the sight of him, bags deep under eyes, lips chapped.

“We’re out of groceries,” Kenma tells him. “Are you okay if I go out to get some?”

Hinata groans, realizing he had completely forgot to uphold his job. “Sorry. Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he says, forcing a smile on his face.

“Are you sure?” Kenma asks him.

“I’m fine, Kenma,” Hinata insists. “Really, go on. I’ll just be here.”

Kenma stares at him for a few more moments, uncertainty evident in his eyes. In the end he nods, grabbing his jacket from where it lies on the chair and heading out of the door, leaving Hinata alone once again.

Hinata pulls his blanket tighter around himself, curling up on the beanbag in the living room. He’s got headphones on, Kenma was so kind to lend him his best pair, blasting his favourite music. It’s frustrating, how half the songs are seij-OH’s, and how the other half were downloaded on their recommendation. The playlist changes to one that Matsukawa had made for Hinata, slow and cool rap songs in a hodgepodge of languages from across the world. Hinata turns the volume up higher, shuts his eyes and leans back far enough that his head is upside down.

Everything is concentrated, loud, like the anticipation the moment before you puke and the moment before you fall. Hinata feels numb, tired. He wants to talk, but wants to stop being annoying more. There’s no work for him to do— modelling or otherwise. Hinata hadn’t even considered going to his lectures, the bigger part of him wishing that he was enrolled in online university so that his ‘week off’ could be spent relaxing and not stressing. Either way, he reasons, he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the guilt sitting inside him.

He shouldn’t be ignoring his friends like this. It’s rude of him, but shutting up is the only way he knows how to stop himself from being obnoxious. It hurts, to think that even after ignoring the texts from Iwaizumi, they haven’t made any attempt to text him anymore.

 _What the hell_ , he thinks to himself. _Did you expect them to keep talking if you aren’t?_

Hinata rolls over, pushing off his headphones. He doesn't want to be reminded of how little he probably means to them. They’re busy, they have their own lives that don’t revolve around him, and they definitely don't spend almost every waking minute thinking about him like he does them.

A knock on the door pulls him out of his wallowing. Hinata rubs his eyes, confused as to how quickly Kenma had finished getting groceries. He kicked his blanket into a corner, shuffling towards the front door and running a hand through his hair— he really should wash it. He pulls the door open, revealing the person he’d least expected to show up on his doorstep without any warning.

“Hi,” Oikawa fucking Tooru says with a softened smile on his face, mask pulled around his chin, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “I missed you.”

Hinata begins to sputter in surprise as Oikawa drops the bag to the ground, jumping forwards and tackling Hinata into a hug. The air is knocked from his lungs as they tumble onto the floor of Hinata’s entrance way, Oikawa pressing his face into the crook of Hinata’s neck and holding him tight.

“W-what are you doing here?” Hinata stutters as Oikawa pulls away, bracketing his arms on either side of Hinata’s head to look down at him.

“Coming to see you, of course,” Oikawa states as if it were the most obvious fact in the world. His face falls, eyelashes brushing his cheeks, _and did he always have that freckle beside his eye?_ Hinata tries not to blush as Oikawa’s eyes flick over his face, his greasy, unwashed and spotted face, turning to the side to keep from being stared at.

“Shou-chan, you don’t have to hide,” Oikawa tells him. “You know you mean a lot to me, right? You’re so bright, so kind, so talented. It’s my fault I didn’t realize how stressful jumping into this kind of lifestyle is. I’m so sorry that I didn’t talk to you more. I should’ve been there for you.”

Hinata feels something knot in his throat, tying tight and welling tears into his eyes. “M’not hiding,” he mumbles, turning to face Oikawa in the eye, watching how his face shifts to something so fond he can’t understand. “And it’s not your fault. I’m just— tired of overthinking, y’know?”

Oikawa nods, his smile warm and inviting. “I understand,” he tells him, wrapping his arms back around Hinata and hugging him once more. Hinata breaths in the jade scent of his shampoo, brings his fingertips up to touch the softness of Oikawa’s hair. He runs his fingers through it as Oikawa stares down at him, gaze soft but with the intensity of someone who cares too much for reasons he can’t understand. Oikawa leans down, nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck. Hinata’s breath hitches, half from the crying, half from the feeling of Oikawa pressed against him. His heart beats hard enough for both of them, and if he focuses, he notices how their breathing is almost synchronized.

The entire thing feels just as surreal as the day they first met, with the surprise creating adrenaline that buzzes through Hinata like a high, shooting him towards the stars and pulling him down to earth at the same time. He can feel the warmth of Oikawa’s breath on his neck, the weight of his body on top of his own, the deep clenching ache in his heart from something he can’t place. In the distance, he hears heavy footsteps, hears shouting as people run up the stairs. Squirming from under Oikawa, he looks up to see none other than Hanamaki, Matsukawa, and Iwaizumi, panting as if they had just ran the entire way there.

“What are you doing on the floor?” Iwaizumi asks as Hanamaki and Matsukawa joins them, pulling Oikawa away to help Hinata to his feet and give them hugs of their own. Hinata feels the shock intensify, wide eyed once again at a surprise that he never would have saw coming.

“We took the next train after Oikawa left,” Iwaizumi explains, moving forwards to push Hinata’s hood off of his head. “Figured you wouldn’t want to be alone.”

Finally, they’re all inside the tiny entranceway of Hinata’s flat, and Hinata is looking up at them all. It tears something warm through him, makes him notice the way they all stare, with wide eyes, hopeful smiles, _care_. Hinata exhales softly, and for once, can’t be bothered for how he looks, or how all of the attention is fixed onto him. He feels warm, feels at home in his own apartment, feels the anxiety and tension that had clutched his stomach release. And something new swells in its place, something dormant that pricks his skin and gives a name to the ache he’s been feeling all along. Matsukawa smiles towards him as he lugs his things inside, and Iwaizumi places a hand on the small of his back, and Oikawa pulls out the couch and Hanamaki grabs the ice cream he knows he has and—

 _Oh,_  Hinata realizes. _Oh. That’s what this feeling is._

And it’s so arbitrary that he’s realizing it now, when he’s halfway to tears from emotional exhaustion, and he can’t even comprehend the hum of happiness that swells in his chest even when he feels as if he is about to cry.

He’s in love with them. Irreversibly, absolutely, ten-thousand percent in love with the people in front of him. Not for their names, not for their music, not for the faces he’s known since high school.

He loves them for their bickering and for their orange laughter, for the way the lights shine in their eyes and for every snort laugh, wicker weaved insult, half-hearted joke and affectionate glares thrown across recording studios and living rooms.

Hinata is in love. He’s in love, and he’s crying.

“Hinata...” Iwaizumi gently whispers, and he’s moving from behind him to face him instead, and he’s guiding him to sit down on his own couch, and somehow every one of them is so close, yet far enough that Hinata can’t touch, and he’s controlled his breathing enough that he can _pour_.

He tells them. He tells them about the fears, about how it scares him to think he’s nothing. He tells them about how it feels to be blinded at the same time that you’re blinding, tells them the intricacies of wondering if you’re really liked. He spills like water from a tap, tears halted but words falling at a rate too fast to make sense, and now he’s worrying but he’s not because he _loves_ them. He doesn't outright say it, of course, but he teeters on the edge of pouring every single reason why he’s been acting this way.

When it’s over, he’s got a blanket and a pair of arms wrapped around him, Matsukawa’s head resting on his shoulder. He’s warm, like an overly affectionate cat or koala bear, and Hinata feels the tension ease out of him as he catches his breath.

“I didn't mean for there to be a misunderstanding,” he tells him, voice serious and soft. “I don’t want you to think I’m blowing you off or ignoring you. I care about how things go and how you are, like, a lot.”

“It’s the same for us all,” Hanamaki adds. “Really, we miss talking to you, we miss _seeing_ you. We miss you a lot, Hinata.”

Hinata swallows thickly. “That’s what I can’t understand,” he tells them. “Why me? You have each other. You could have anyone you want. How am _I_ here?”

“Don’t you get it?” Oikawa asks Hinata, kneeling down in front of him. “We don’t want anyone else. We want _you_.”

“And why wouldn't we? You’re funny, exciting, kind, and unbelievably talented,” Iwaizumi says to him. “It’s our fault for not recognizing how stressful jumping into this kind of life can be.”

“S’not your fault,” Hinata sniffs. “I’ve been ignoring you.”

“Out of stress, and that doesn't count,” Hanamaki cuts in.

“We care a lot about you,” Matsukawa says, turning Hinata’s chin so that they face each other. “You’re not annoying us when you tell us about your problems, whether it’s school or modelling or whatever. We want to listen to you and talk to you.”

Hinata nods, taking a deep breath. The entire meeting is impromptu and unexpected, and with his mind as scattered as it is now, it’s a lot to take in. Without realizing it, Hinata leans onto Matsukawa, sighing in content. It feels good to be close to him, to all of them. Matsukawa wraps an arm around his waist, and the weight feels nice, grounds him into the apartment where he is and not his mind. Just as he gets comfortable, he hears Oikawa huff, flopping down on his other side and pressing his forehead to his shoulder. The contact tickles ever so slightly, and makes Hinata laugh long enough that he doesn't see Hanamaki lying down across his and Matsukawa’s laps or Iwaizumi sitting on the floor, leaning back so that his head rests against Hinata’s thigh.

He’s missed this. He really has.

—

Things change, but they were bound to.

It takes elbow grease and pulling a ridiculous amount of strings, but Hinata doesn’t fail any of his courses, scratching by a pass on the semester. It’s the inevitable and relieving decision to switch into online classes, and one that allows him the flexibility to start taking bigger and better shoots in Tokyo more frequently. It’s in December, after finishing a Skype call with Oikawa, that Kenma broaches the subject with him.

“I’m being sponsored by a Tokyo film design company,” Kenma says, and Hinata walks right into the counter in shock.

“Kenma!” he exclaims, turning around and abandoning his task of getting something to drink. “Congratulations! Oh my god, you’re halfway to an _Oscar_ —”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes you are! Can you mention me in your speech or—”

“That’s not the point. I’m gonna have to move to Tokyo, and since this apartment’s lease is up in the new year…” Kenma trails off, shrugging his shoulders. “I thought, we better start looking for places in Tokyo now that you’ll be modelling full time.”

Hinata blinks twice, before breaking out into a wide smile. “We’re going to live in Tokyo,” he says with a daze, eyes starry and bright. He shakes his head, pulling open the fridge and grabbing a soda. “I can’t believe this. I’m gonna be able to see Oikawa and Matsukawa and Hanamaki and Iwaizumi so much more, and I’ll be able to go to multiple shoots in a day, and meet new designers— this is just a dream, Kenma, I can only imagine how it is for you.”

Kenma smiles and nods as Hinata pours his juice. “So, you guys worked everything out then?”

Hinata nods, taking a sip of his juice. Kenma pulls out his phone, scrolling through something before turning it around so that Hinata can see the screen.

“Speaking of which, there’s a rumour you’re dating Oikawa,” he tells him, voice neither challenging nor suspicious.

Hinata chokes on his juice, the delicious fruity flavour now bubbling in his airway instead of his stomach.

“I guess it’s just a rumour,” Kenma continues, looking away from Hinata’s look of sheer shock to go back to his phone. “Do you like him?”

Hinata sputters again, straw slipping from his lips back down into his drink. Kenma tilts his head, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips.  “Do you like them all?”

Hinata nearly falls over. Kenma, that goddamn sadist.

“K-Kenma!” he sputters. “I just— I don’t— I want to…” Hinata freezes, looking down to his feet as he feels his cheeks heat up. “Yes,” he mumbles, quiet enough that he prays Kenma can’t hear him.

“I figured,” Kenma tells him. “You know, you’re a lot luckier that you think, Shouyou. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Hinata wishes him goodnight as he tries and makes sense of his message, sipping on his juice. While ecstatic over the prospect of choosing a new flat in a new city, pursuing bigger and better things, his mind won’t leave the people that he’ll be seeing there. Even now, in a kitchen alone, Hinata’s stomach flutters at the thought of them— Iwaizumi, with worn hands and a warm smile, Hanamaki, with sunshine pouring from every pore, Matsukawa, with his blunt compliments, and Oikawa, and all his clinginess and maybe joke flirting.

He repeats to himself: _I am special, I am special, I am special._

Maybe, he thinks, just maybe, it’ll be true.

—

So they move to Tokyo when the calendar year changes to January, in a relativity nicer flat than their previous one, what with their increased income. They’re gifted with a whopping six extra pairs of hands (four from seij-OH, two from the body guards, whose names, Hinata learns, are Kyoutani and Watari. They still scare him shitless.) Hinata allows himself the treat of watching Iwaizumi’s biceps flex when carrying boxes, trying to be subtle when he lets his eyes wander much too long to be accidental. Kenma catches him once or twice and rolls his eyes, causing Hinata to trip over his own feet in embarrassment.

It’s not home by any means yet— the Ikea furniture hasn't been assembled, no boxes have been unpacked. For now, they all sit in the empty living space, lying on the floor and staring up at the ceiling.

It isn’t a new start, really. Just another leap of faith and another blind fall into the world of cameras. Hinata embraces it with open arms, knowing the ones he loves will be there to catch him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man my man my ddudes He Knows Now he has Realized oh man //fans self
> 
> here's a bit of trivia for you: this was supposed to be the end of part 1!! but me and kj decided otherwise so there's a Lot More juicy times ahead. i think the next few chapters are some of what we both are looking forward to the most.
> 
> thanks for reading guys!! and if you ever wanna yell with us about matsuhanaiwaoihina or anything on tumblr hit us up @mooksmookin and @spacegaykj


	6. climb up your lips to seek me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS YA MOOK HERE man its been a while over a month holy shit sorry this took so long BUT if youve read small town au that was our focus in our mini-break of this fic seriously go read it pleas we put a lot of work into it etc up to you
> 
> ANYWAY we're onto the next half part 1, which was supposed to be part 2, and me and kj have been REALLY REALLY looking forward to this (like literally since we started writing this fic together.... oh boy) i hope you guys enjoy it cuz i know i did
> 
> as always written by kj, my best friend and my all time favorite writer bless them, and beta'd by me myself and i, mooks

—

There are a few downsides of being the leader. Sitting through boring meetings alone, being the one who’s expected to answer all of the questions, dealing with Daishou. Oikawa has become a master at all of them over the years, smooth talking his way through any altercation, but nothing can stop him from bouncing his leg as he sits in front of Kiyoko, waiting for her to approve the last few songs that’ll be on the album. It twists his stomach like a rag, wrings him out of any feeling but the jitters as Kiyoko slips the headphones off her head.

“They’re very good,” she tells him. “You did an amazing job at producing.”

Oikawa drops his shoulders, sighing heavy with relief. “Thank you, Shimizu. So we have an album?”

“We do,” she confirms, Mona Lisa smile soft on her face. “The next step is for Hanamaki to present the final choreography for the two singles and for you to learn it. While you do that I can look for someone to direct the music videos and get a booking for the cover art. Your concept designs are good, we just need a consensus on which one you want to use. Of course, we have a month or so until this all happens.”

“So what will we do in the meantime?” Oikawa asks, spinning his chair from side to side. It’s very unlikely they’d be idle while waiting for the finer details to be sorted out, and judging by the way Kiyoko has made no move to stand, there's something still left to say.

“I was contacted by Kuroo Tetsurou with—” Kiyoko starts, but Oikawa cuts her off before she can finish.

“You know I don’t do single modelling shoots,” he tells her. “I only work with the rest of the band.”

“It’s a huge commercial for a luxury car brand. Kuroo got the offer from Tanaka Saeko and her racing contacts. It’s a two person job, and they want your name,” Kiyoko explains.

“I _can’t_ do it,” Oikawa persists. “I’m not a model.”

Kiyoko sighs. “Will you consider it? It’s an amazing opportunity. Kuroo said that Hinata is most likely to be in it as w—”

“What?!” Oikawa exclaims, sitting up immediately. “Shou-chan is going to be in it? Why didn’t you lead with that?”

Kiyoko stares at him for a moment, baffled, before pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “He’s only being considered. Kuroo has yet to officially select who he’s sending.”

“Tell them I’ll do it,” Oikawa replies in a heartbeat. “But only if he does too.”

“Oikawa—”

“Those are my terms,” he states, voice cold and unwavering. “Otherwise they can find another person. Surely they have other pretty boys with too much time and money on their hands, no?”

He flashes Kiyoko a smile, standing up. She remains apathetic, but nods slowly.

“I’ll see what I can do, but I make no promises,” she tells him.

Oikawa keeps his smile plastered on his face, self assured and already at the door. “Send me the date!” he calls to her before exiting the room, too excited about the prospect of being in a commercial with Hinata to worry about the stress that always comes with trying to model. Oikawa pushes down the familiar stresses that always try to resurface, bites his tongue and focuses on nothing but the idea of being beside Hinata, in an expensive automobile, imagining how classy he’d look against the leather interior, feet on the dash, top two buttons undone—

Oikawa nearly walks into a terrified intern in his daydreaming bliss. Snapped out of his own mind, he offers him a small smile of apology before slipping into the elevator and heading back down to the studio floors. It’s not his fault that his mind is always fixated on Hinata, that ginger hair and sunshine smiles drive him to the breaking point. Oikawa knows he’s infatuated, knows that it’s probably blatantly obvious and as clear as day and crystal to anyone that watches, but he can’t bring himself to care for how he looks when Hinata just simply exists.

—

Hinata Shouyou doesn't know how to feel when, after another shoot, he sees Kuroo smile wryly down at his phone and mutter _that bastard_ under his breath. Luckily, he seems less angry and more annoyed as he tucks it into the pocket of his jacket, walking towards Hinata. Yelping in surprise and slight fear, Hinata pulls his sweater over his head, scrambling to stand up straight and seeming somewhat put together and not half naked. Kuroo, unfazed, merely smiles.

“I was going to tell you later, but it seems the other party is being a little selfish,” he explains. Hinata cocks his head as Kuroo sighs. “I have a client that Alisa’s girlfriend connected us with.”

“The race car driver?!” Hinata exclaims.

“Yes, her. There’s a luxury car brand that wants one of my models and a celebrity, so I’m sending you and Oikawa to shoot a commercial with them,” he tells him. “I don't think I need to explain how huge this is.”

He doesn’t. Hinata’s already began bouncing up and down, excitedly whooping and cheering at his success. A commercial, for a luxury car brand no less, is _huge_ , something that Hinata could never had foreseen. The fact that he’s doing it with Oikawa makes his stomach flip flop into his throat, makes him become almost dizzy with glee. Oikawa rarely modeled, and to have the privilege to work with him was something he was sure that, a few months ago, would’ve killed him. Even now, Hinata can’t wipe the elated look off his face as he packs up the rest of his things.

“Oh, and Hinata?” Kuroo calls, forcing Hinata to whip his head around to face him.

“Yes?”

“I hope you know how to swim.”

—

One thing that Hinata didn't expect when Oikawa came to pick him up at the crack of dawn (4:00 am, to be exact) was for him to be just as nervous as he felt. Barefaced, wearing his own merchandise— an old tour hoodie that looked well worn— and a pair of basketball shorts with sports leggings underneath; he was anything but well dressed, not that Hinata minded. He was more focused on how he rocked back and forth on his heels, either in excitement or anticipation, as Hinata handed him a travel mug of coffee he knew he’d forget before exiting his apartment and heading down to his car.

“Do you have the directions?” Oikawa asks him as he unlocks his car, walking around the other side to open the door for Hinata.

“Yep!” Hinata exclaims, slipping onto the seat. “It’s about an hour away. We’re getting out of the city and onto the coast.”

Oikawa slips into the driver’s seat, shooting Hinata a smile. “I can’t wait to see you model,” he says, turning the ignition and letting the car hum to life.

Hinata flushes pink, turning away. “You’ve seen me model before,” he murmurs out of embarrassment.

“Yes, but now I’ll be right beside you. I can’t wait for you to amazingly upstage me and blow everyone out of the water,” Oikawa tells him.

Hinata doesn't know how to respond, instead kicking off his shoes and tucking his legs underneath himself, curling up in the seat. Oikawa is a good driver— fast, but good, keeping a steady speed, not swerving enough to send Hinata flying. As he drives, Hinata watches the rain fall from out of the window, the little droplets racing each other down the pane. The entire city is still asleep, morning at the mercy of the clocks and not the winter skies that refuse to brighten. It lulls the adrenaline from his veins enough to keep him calm, keep him from tapping his fingers relentlessly against the window.

“Do you mind if I play some music?” Oikawa asks, exiting the freeway they were on. “It’s already set on my phone, you just have to plug it in.”

Hinata nods, grabbing Oikawa’s phone and unlocking it (0000 is his password, everyone has figured it out) and selects the playlist titled _drive_. Something lo-fi ebbs from the speakers, electronic and sharp in comparison of the steady drizzle outside. Hinata sits back in the seat, leaning back so that he can comfortably rest his head, staring not so subtly at Oikawa as he drives.

They’re both morning people, so there’s no residue of sleep in his body now, only a cool, collected calm, so much like that of before a storm. Hinata watches him drum his fingers on the steering wheel, watches how he looks at him out of the corner of his eyes and smiles. Hinata looks away quickly, smiling slightly. It feels childish, how they’re catching each other’s stares and looking away as if to be shy when neither are anything of the sort. Hinata’s heart buzzes, and he shuts his eyes to avoid worrying about Oikawa seeing him stare.

A carefully constructing space grows in the car, Hinata fading in and out of thought and awareness of the music and the drum of rain on the roof. It’s almost liminal, takes away from the nervousness of being in a commercial this large and the near constant stomach twist of being near and in love with Oikawa Tooru.

“Shou-chan,” Oikawa says, quietly as if not to break whatever is between them. “We’re here.”

They park the car a little ways away from the set, in a parking lot that’s completely filled with cars they assume are for the crew. The rain has eased up, luckily, but the wind continues to berate anything not tied down in the area, ripping through Hinata and Oikawa’s hair as they get out of the car and run towards the tents that landmark the safe.

When they step into the set— a beach with long, white sand, completely booked off for the shoot— several interns approach them with clipboards in hands, leading them towards tents sheltered from the wind. Hinata blinks at the sudden change of atmosphere, from the small intimacy of Oikawa’s car, to the bright lights of the modelling world he’s become accustomed to. Oikawa’s got his mask on, the smile that's a little too practiced to be true. It's a bit unsettling, how plastic it is in comparison to the calm they had inside of the car. He thanks the interns before ducking into the tent, holding open the door for Hinata who swoops in.

“Ah, Hinata, Oikawa,” Kuroo says, voice smooth, excited. “Head to makeup and meet with Shimizu. She’ll talk you through what the director is thinking before they show up themselves.”

Hinata nods, already unzipping his jacket and hanging it up on the nearby hanger. Oikawa blinks twice, following in suit. Kuroo leads them both towards makeup, where two vanities and three beauticians stand.

“Kunimi! Kindaichi, Yahaba, Shimizu never said you’d be the makeup artists!” Oikawa exclaims, jumping into his seat.

Hinata’s eyes widen. “Wait, you know them?” he asks, sitting in the seat adjacent to Oikawa.

The one with dirty blond snorts. “We’re the only reason he doesn’t look like a mess in public,” he says. Hinata stares, blinking once in confusion.

“His stylists,” the tallest says. He’s got a head that kind of looks like a turnip. It’s a bit strange, and Hinata cocks his head trying to make sense of it.

Hinata sighs in realization, quickly closing his eyes so that the makeup artist can get at his face. The routine is one that Hinata can fall easily into, staying quiet long enough for his face to be powered and highlighted accordingly. Oikawa, however, out of lack of modelling experience or design, continues talking.

“You know, Kunimi-chan, I can always do my own makeup,” Oikawa sing songs.

“I don’t trust you,” the makeup artist says. “You’d probably give yourself glitter eyeliner and red lips.”

“What’s wrong with that?!” Oikawa yelps, indignant.

“Exactly.”

Hinata giggles, staring at Oikawa’s face of offense through the mirror. The hairstylist has already started trying to fix Hinata’s mess of hair, brushing through it and straightening it so it’ll lay flat. Hinata blows his bangs out of his face, bouncing his leg as Kiyoko approaches beside him.

“Don’t spend too much time on the hair,” she warns softly, setting a cup of coffee onto the vanity. “It’s scripted that you two are going to end up in the water.”

Turnip head sighs, looking down at his miraculous work with a look of dejection. The dirty blond haired one rolls his eyes, taking over.

“Let’s just do beach waves then,” he says. “Don’t over product Oikawa’s, but put some spray in or else it’ll blow up in the humidity.”

“Yahaba, do you not like my hair fluffy?” Oikawa pouts.

“And get him some duct tape for his mouth. Aren’t you a professional?”

Hinata stifles another mess of giggles at Oikawa’s expense as the blond, Yahaba, works on his hair. Kiyoko begins running through the details of the shoot, which consists mainly of artistic shots of the car being driven, and what they’re supposed to do, which perhaps may be the least car related thing they could think of.

Surfing.

“You’re not going to actually surf,” Kiyoko assures them as she leads them onto the set. “You just need to approach the waves with the boards, swim, and do a scene inside of the car. We do have a lifeguard on hand incase anything goes wrong. I need to stay off set, but you can meet with the producers beside camera one.”

“Okay!” Hinata chimes, already rolling on the balls of his barefeet in excitement. The sand is cool against his feet, wet from rain and squishes against his toes. The wetsuit he wears, sleek, black, cropped at the sleeves, stays tight to his form, but despite being the real model there, it's Oikawa who stands out. Clad from ankle to wrist in navy blue, Hinata can only stare at the wetsuit and how it hugs the contours of his body. That, paired with the salt washed hair and dewy eyes, makes Hinata’s face heat up from more than just the cold.

He’s not the only one staring. The producers make their ways over, smiling wide in their designer sunglasses as they beckon them closer. Despite all of the attention, Oikawa seems stiff, his shoulders pulled up and knotted as if the entire situation were undesirable. He doesn't have much more time to dwell on that fact before the producers meet them, beginning to speak to them.

“Oikawa!” the tallest exclaims. “So lovely to finally meet you! You're such a talented model, we’re so grateful to have you—”

“I’m not a model,” Oikawa cuts in, tone sharp like a dagger, eyes steely, cold. “Hinata is, however.” His demeanor flickers into something a little more sugary, eyes lighting brighter while still maintaining the same condescending, threatening tone. “Did you happen to catch Vogue Japan? He was listed as one of the top new models of the year.”

“Uh, yes!” another producer says, saving the day. “Hinata, Kuroo has told us about you. We look forward to seeing how you perform.”

Hinata hums, less offended at their negligence of him and more worried by Oikawa’s attitude. It's not the first time he's seen this mask, the one that gets put on for paparazzi and invasive questions, but it's the first that he's had to witness Oikawa look almost _uncomfortable_ in something Hinata always assumed was his element.

“Well!” shouts the third producer in an attempt to break the tension that's swollen around them. “We’re all set to go for the first scene, if you can follow me.”

The two follow the disgruntled producer to the lip of the waterline, where the tide manages to creep on. He switches off with the director, who smiles and shakes both their hands before positioning them and walking them through the motions, animated in his movements and his ideas for the commercial.

“You’ve read the script, you know what the emotions we’re going for are— classy, elegant, carefree.” He smiles, looking between them as they nod. “Kuroo was right about you, I can already see the chemistry.”

Hinata flushes pink, laughing in embarrassment as he turns away. He’s the one starting on screen, so he’s left alone in front of the swelling ocean, a surfboard clutched awkwardly under his arm. He shifts it in his hold once or twice before it fits in a comfortable position, just as the director calls action and the filming begins.

It’s not difficult, all Hinata has to do is stand in place for a while, walk forwards, and breathe deeply, looking to the sky or the side. It’s a movement he has to go through several times, always backing up to the same spot, always feeling the same chill of water trickling between his toes as he touches the waves. The cameras are much larger in size and number than what’s in a studio, swirling around him to get angles needed for each shot. Hinata’s mind soon becomes blank as he gives himself to the emotion he’s trying to portray, looking steely eyed out onto the greying horizon as he models.

He’s so focused he doesn’t notice Oikawa’s staring, or how, in the corner of his eye, he can see his lips fall open in amazement, his eyes widen in adoration. The wind blows his hair out of his face, pulls the tents taunt and sends people’s paper’s flying, but there isn’t much Hinata can see beyond his task in front of him, and Oikawa can’t bring himself to break Hinata’s magic.

The director calls the scene to an end, notifying that it’s time for Oikawa’s entrance. The movement is simple— he walks up beside Hinata, and Hinata looks towards him. The first few times, however, feel almost off. Hinata can sense the tension that sits around Oikawa, despite the offset coos of wonderful atmosphere and beauty. For the fifth time, Oikawa does his entrance, moving towards Hinata without looking his way. This time, Hinata curves his mouth into a smile despite the lack of scripting, is rewarded with seeing Oikawa’s shoulders drop with a sigh of somewhat relief.

“Great work!” the director shouts. “Let’s get these running scenes done and then move on to the car poses.”

The makeup team reappears to touch up where the sea spray from the ocean had wiped off their makeup, all teasing banter gone with the wind. They work quick, not jumping like Hinata at the crash of the waves behind them, not flinching like Oikawa when rain begins to drizzle.

“Ah, Oikawa, you really are such a great model!” an intern shyly comments before slipping off to finish setting up. Oikawa doesn’t get a chance to reply, but his jaw stiffens anyway. Hinata’s stomach twists, wondering what exactly is wrong.

There’s little time to dwell on that fact before they start running through the wet sand, stopping and starting and catching their breath. Hinata recovers first from the sprint, jolting up and rolling out his shoulders, just in time to catch Oikawa catch a water bottle from an intern and chug half of it in one gulp, throat bobbing and ocean water mixing with the sweat by his hairline.

Hinata curses conflicting feelingsー worry and his own thirst. Hinata asks for a water bottle himself.

The next scene is one Oikawa films alone, waxing the surfboard on a makeshift wooden table set up near one of the set tents. Hinata sips his water and watches him go, watches his muscles move from under the tight t-shirt he’s changed into. His biceps flex as he pulls and pushes, waxing the board with a look of calm shining through his irises. Hinata doesn’t dare look away, enchanted with how fluidly he moves, as if this were his life and not some part to model.

It’s something he notices being mentioned throughout the filming, when they get a break while the stunt drivers drive the car in donuts around the beach, or when the film gets shifted more to the landscape than the people. The buzz is constant, the admiration for Oikawa’s natural talent in looking ethereal in any position, the ever heard _why do we never see him model?_ nearly as loud as the waves. Oikawa’s eyes grow more tired than spiteful with every word, and Hinata has yet to find out why.

Of course, Hinata freezes completely when he hears about what’s next. Oikawa gets to step out of that luxury car that had just finished fishtailing in the sand and pull off his shirt, exposing his back muscles, smooth as if sculpted by gods. Good for selling cars? Maybe, who knows. Good for Hinata’s health? That’s another question entirely, because Hinata has to watch him pull his shirt off ten times before the director ends the scene.

 _“Oh my god I think I died_ — _”_

_“D’you think Calvin Klein would hire him?”_

_“I can talk to the agent because_ Christ— _”_

The whispers start buzzing almost immediately after the cameras turn off, swarming like bees or mosquitoes in your ear. Hinata doesn’t pay them any mind, moving to go beside Oikawa only to see him shake his head to no one in particular and take a step back.

“I can’t— I need a moment, please,” Oikawa chokes out before turning around, pulling his shirt back over his head and walking off towards where the water meets the sand. Everyone freezes for a split second as the director calls to take five, and Hinata feels the concern that’s been swelling spill over his heart as he follows after Oikawa’s footprints to where he sits in the sand.

Oikawa’s got his knees pulled to his chest, sitting in the wet sand without care for the dampness of the sand or how the water creeps from the ocean to tickle his toes. It’s cold, and Hinata shivers involuntarily, the roar of the crashing waves drowning out anything but Oikawa beside him.

“Oikawa?” he asks. “Are you okay?”

Oikawa hums, extending his legs and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “It’s… a lot of things.”

Hinata stands a little ways away, tentatively leaning back and forth on the balls of his feet before deciding to sit down beside Oikawa, not saying anything, not moving any closer beyond the line drawn between their hands. In his peripherals he sees Oikawa’s eyes close, his mouth parting as he exhales in time with the tide. Their pinky fingers brush together, slight enough that Hinata wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t hyperaware of every movement Oikawa makes.

They stay like that for awhile, silent except for the growing strain between them, air thick with more than just humidity, with more than just Hinata’s feelings left unraveled and loose at the ends. Five minutes surely passes, but neither gets up, finding comfort and content in the other’s presence. It’s Oikawa who speaks first, the words appearing from nowhere, as if swept up with the tide.

“I’m… not really one for modelling,” he admits, his fingers lazily trailing through the sand. “I mean, I only ever did shoots because the others were there and it was for promotions.” He wrinkles his nose, looking bitterly up towards the sky. “Though, I guess that doesn’t explain why I’m so shaken.”

Hinata turns to him, looking away from the ocean to stare at the myriad of barely noticeable freckles hidden on Oikawa’s cheeks. “You don’t have to tell me, you know. Not right now, if you’re not ready.”

“No, I should— I _want_ to tell you,” Oikawa insists. He pauses for a moment, likely mulling over his thoughts before swallowing thickly. “I was in theatre as a child, grew up singing in that vein. Never really cared for the acting, but I went with it. Got to dance, but more importantly, I got to sing,” Oikawa explains. “I guess I was about fourteen— there was a lead role in a huge production, and I _really_ wanted it.” His lip curls, and he rolls his eyes. “Of course, I didn't get it. It went to a baritone named Ushijima who, along with lacking passion but having talent, informed me I should simply become a model.”

Hinata blinks, eyes widening. “What, as if he thought you couldn't sing?”

Oikawa shrugs, looking away. “Never cared to find out, but it always stuck with me, you know? People always act like the only reason I got big is because I have a pretty face and end up ignoring the others in interviews and focusing on me. I can't count how many modelling companies offered to pay out my contract for me to work with them, because apparently my looks would get me much further than my voice,” he concludes.

“You know that's not true,” Hinata says in disbelief. “You have a _brilliant_ voice! Like, it could cure diseases and make people rise from the dead!”

Oikawa bows his head, tongue caught between teeth, apples of his cheeks dusted pink. “Yeah, I know, but it still frustrates me that people keep saying I've made the wrong choice,” he tells him. “And you know what's the worst part? That kid, Ushijima, is a modelling agent now. I _cannot_ escape him and his insistence on me being a model.”

Hinata raises his eyebrows, leaning back. “What? Really?” he asks, voice half offended and half amazed.

Oikawa laughs lightly at Hinata’s reaction, slightly less jarring than before. “Yeah, you've probably seen his models before,” he says. “Either way I just… modelling isn't something I can really do. I'm sorry for screwing this up for you.”

“Oikawa,” Hinata softly says, moving so that their hands lay together. “You haven't ruined anything, you haven't screwed anything up.” Hinata pauses, contemplating his next words. “If anything, you're the only one I'd really want to do this with.”

“Really?” Oikawa asks, looking into his eyes with wonder. Hinata feels the intensity of his stare boring into him, warm chocolate eyes holding words unspoken in the air.

Hinata inhales, shaky, his shoulders tightening up the slightest bit. “Y-yeah,” he breathes out, soft and careful.

Slowly, Oikawa threads their fingers together, pulling their joint hands into his lap. Hinata's breath hitches at the little intimacy, and with what courage he has left, he lies his head atop Oikawa’s shoulder.

They only stay like that for a few breaths, pausing as if to recollect their senses before Hinata sits up to face him, their bodies now closer than before. The eye contact doesn't go away, no matter how many times either of them flick their eyes back down to their hands. Hinata feels his heart beat louder in his ears, rising in his throat as Oikawa leans forward, brushing Hinata's hair behind his ear with his other hand.

He's close enough that Hinata can smell his shampoo, jade and jasmine, earthy and fresh, grounding him to everything that has to do with the hand that traces his jaw before resting at his chin. Oikawa's tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip, and Hinata feels his stomach quiver, and there's no way in hell this can be happening. _It's a dream_ , he tells himself, even as Oikawa leans closer, even as Hinata lets his own eyes flutter close. He can barely believe it when Oikawa’s mouth brushes onto the corner of his cheek, so close to his lips, so close to where Hinata dared to want them to be.

When Oikawa pulls away, it’s with half-lidded eyes and a soft quirk of his lips, gentle hands caressing Hinata’s cheek where he had just kissed. Hinata still feels as if his entire chest is lit on fire, the eye contact between him and Oikawa unwavering and unbroken. Hinata lets a shaken breath slip through his mouth as he flicks his eyes to their joined hands, squeezing Oikawa’s palm as the waves crash.

“Shou-chan,” Oikawa sings, his face much brighter, much lighter. “You restored all my energy!”

Hinata looks away, laughter choked and shy as Oikawa pulls him off of the wet sand. “C’mon,” Hinata tells him, not resisting his own grin. “We have a job to finish.”

Oikawa doesn’t let go of his hand as they walk back towards the tent, keeping their hands laced together as they move to escape the steadily increasing rain. Neither are in a rush to escape it— they’re already cold and damp from sitting in the sand, toes a little numb and hearts still buzzing. A question pops into Hinata’s mind as they near the shelter, curiosity not holding him back.

“Hey Oikawa?”

“Mhm?”

“If you don’t like modelling, why’d you agree to be here?”

Oikawa stops in his tracks, mulling over his thoughts for a moment. “Well,” he finally says. “Because you’re here.”

Hinata’s cheeks heat up again as he look away, not sure how to react to the new revelation. Luckily, they’ve reached the tent, and there’s too many people rushing inside to seek shelter for either of them to say anything more.

“God, there you two are,” Kuroo says, materializing behind them and making Hinata jump. “Trouble in paradise solved?”

Hinata begins to sputter, but Oikawa simply laughs— a _real_ laugh, the one that sparkles and glistens. “Yep!” he says, swinging their joined hands forward. “Are we going to continue filming in the rain?”

Kuroo shrugs. “You’d think their cameras could handle a little drizzle.”

“I think it’s the people,” Hinata comments, looking over to where the various camera techs huddle under towels. They remind him somewhat of Kenma, like soaked cats caught in the rain.

Kuroo sighs. “Well, I know about as much as you do. I think they’re just filming the stunt drives now, so it’ll be best for you to get back to hair and makeup so you can be all fixed up for the last few scenes.”

The last few scenes put Oikawa behind the steering wheel and Hinata in the passenger seat, deja vu thrumming in the air as Hinata lazily props his feet on the dash, one hand out the window, another atop Oikawa’s hand that rests on his thigh. It was a directorial decision, one that Oikawa took no hesitation in following through with, and one that spins Hinata’s head dizzy as they drive.

The phantom touch of Oikawa’s lips pressed to his cheek is still prevalent even now, a reminder of something Hinata can’t make sense of. There wasn’t any reason for Oikawa to do that, was there? Hinata’s just a friend, just a friend with conflicting feelings about what would've happened if Oikawa had moved his lips a little to the left and _kissed_ him, really and truly. Would he be gentle? Soft? Hesitant? Would his hand creep to the back of Hinata’s head and cradle him close? Would the other move to the skin on his hip? Would he bite his bottom lip, control the pace? Would Hinata freeze up at the sensation or give in? Would—

Hinata berates himself as the director calls cut, realizing he’s been staring at Oikawa instead of straight ahead. He shouldn't be imagining things like this when there’s a task at hand, when there’s no chance that Oikawa would see him that way. He’s a flirt if there ever was one, a touchy feely friend, and Hinata knows there’s no good outcome of hoping and letting his feelings run free. He takes what intimacy they get, the link of pinkies on the drive home, the hand steady on his thigh even when the camera is off.

Hinata decides to think about this later. He does, technically, but it never leaves his head, not when he gets back to his new Tokyo apartment, not when he’s washing the dried salt from his skin. When he looks at his reflection in the mirror, big brown eyes look back at him. He raises his fingers to the corner of his mouth, where it meets his cheek, and smiles.

“He _kissed_ me.”

—

Living in Tokyo makes things a lot more busy. Kuroo schedules him for more shoots, asks him to prepare for more runways, leaving his days full and busier than before. The stress of commuting is gone, and with frequent visits and hangouts with the seij-OHs, whether overnight or just dropping by the studio or whatever other idea they come up with, he’s far from overworked. Still, it’s rare that he ever gets a true free day, and when he does, the last thing he wants to do is go out, especially after the commercial.

So, he and Kenma lie on the couch they moved from Kyoto to Tokyo because it’s _that_ comfy, playing a new game Kenma has purchased. Hinata isn’t sure what’s going on, really, but it’s fun to try and keep up with Kenma’s avatar as they fight the monsters or aliens or whatever the CGI figures are supposed to be.

“You didn’t tell me much about the shoot,” he comments.

“I did too!” Hinata exclaims, mashing the buttons on his controller.

Kenma hums in disagreement. “Did not.”

“Did too!”

His friend shoots him a glance, and they continue to play in silence save the noises coming from the TV.

“Kuroo said he saw you and Oikawa kiss,” Kenma says, just as Hinata was about to beat the boss. His controller vibrates as he squawks, his character dying on screen.

“W-what?” Hinata stutters, dropping the controller and turning to Kenma. “He said _what_?”

“That you kissed,” Kenma states plainly. “Did you?”

A noise dies in the back of Hinata’s throat, along with all of his mental coherency. “We didn’t kiss, I mean, we kinda did, but not really, y’know? Like he was all _ohh_ and _ahh_ and I was all _hnngh_ and _uwaa_ and—”

“Shouyou,” Kenma interrupts. “Words, please.”

Hinata covers his face with his hands, still in disbelief as he admits the action. “He kissed me on the cheek,” he mumbles, moving his hands away to point to the corner of his mouth. “Right here.”

“Did you want him to kiss you on the lips?”

Hinata feels his face heat up. “I— I mean- well I _thought—_ I _guess_ I was disappointed, but—” he sputters, trying to come up with some sort of excuse.

Kenma blinks before nodding, turning back to the game. “So you _did_ want him to kiss you.”

“Eh?! Wh- I didn’t say that!” Hinata exclaims, backpedaling.

“You can’t deny it now.”

“Yes I can!”

Kenma shoots him a pointed look of doubt. “You’re blushing.”

“J-just because I’m blushing doesn’t mean I want to kiss them!”

“So you admit you want to kiss all of them.”

“ _Kenma_!” Hinata shouts, exasperated. When Kenma makes no move to even try to dispute it, already immersed in his game, Hinata realizes he’s lost.

It’s not like he didn't want Kenma to find out or anything— he’s his best friend, and odds are he’d end up spilling eventually— but it’s hard to keep himself from turning into some kind of a mess at the mere _thought_ of actually having a _crush_ on Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa. A strangled noise dies in his throat as he flops his head onto the pillows of the couch, groaning into the fabric.

“Are you talking?” Kenma asks.

Hinata’s words are muffled through more embarrassment than the cushion, but he turns away enough that Kenma can make out what he says and whispers—

“Kenma, I’m so gay,” Hinata bemoans. “I don’t even want to think about that- that _kiss_ anymore. It’s not even a _real_ kiss!”

“Oh?”

“Yeah!” Hinata shouts. He picks up his controller, spawning back in the game only to be swiftly killed by another enemy.

There’s not much else he can do in the game, mind too preoccupied and stubborn fueled denial burning on fumes. Kenma seems to notice that, and despite all of his false indifference, Hinata can tell he’s curious. With a sigh of defeat, he sets down his controller and turns to Kenma, who’s looking at him through the corner of his eye.

“It’s… different saying it to yourself and saying it out loud for someone else to hear,” Hinata admits. “I just can’t believe I’ve fallen for snort laughs and stupid games and Matsukawa’s stupid dorkiness and Iwaizumi’s adorable nose scrunch and…” Hinata trails off, unsure of what to say.

“You know I’m not good with romance,” Kenma tells him.

Hinata raises his brows. “I wouldn’t believe it, with how you and Kuroo—”

“We aren’t talking about me,” Kenma interjects. “We’re talking about you.”

Hinata leans over so that his head rests on the arm of the couch. “It’s hopeless— _I’m_ hopeless. What am I thinking, falling for four people, two of which are dating each other, all of which are insanely out of my league?”

Kenma makes of noise of disagreement. “You’re oblivious. Oikawa kissed you on the cheek, Iwaizumi seems to only post on social media when you hang out, and have you heard Matsukawa and Hanamaki talk about you?”

With a huff, Hinata sits back up. “That means nothing. We’re just _friends_ , sadly. That’s what friends do.”

Kenma wonders if he rolls his eyes anymore, if he’d see the back of his head. “I give up,” he mutters, turning back to his game. Hinata seems to agree, and they slip back into the rhythm of battling monsters and trying not to die, more questions raised than answered.

—

You’d think, after years of knowing Oikawa, that his best friends would be ready for the whirlwind of his arrival back from the modelling shoot. In reality, the three are pondering the best ways to cheer him up after what is likely to be a draining day of something he hates, ready to gossip and distract him from the toxicity of modelling he loathes. It’s why, when Oikawa walks into their apartment with some kind of glow to his flushed face, hair wavy and damp at the edges, smile almost blissful, no one knows what to do.

“Someone catch me,” Oikawa swoons, falling back onto Iwaizumi, who at last minute keeps him from smacking against the floor. He grumbles, pushing him back upright.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” Iwaizumi asks as Oikawa closes his eyes and hums, walking to collapse on one of the armchairs by the window.

“Are you high?” Hanamaki asks. “Do you need a doctor? Did you hit your head on the car door?” He looks over to Matsukawa, who is silently snickering at Oikawa’s… condition. “Did you get _hit_ by the car?”

“Nope!” Oikawa exclaims, popping the _p_. “I’m in love~!”

Hanamaki looks from Matsukawa to Iwaizumi, taking in the faces of humour and exasperation, respectively.

“Please tell me you got to make out with Hinata in the backseat of an expensive car,” Matsukawa says, grinning as he moves to lounge on one of the other chairs.

Oikawa sighs dreamily. “No, not quite,” he tells him. “But I _did_ kiss him on the cheek!”

“ _No_ ,” Hanamaki says, eyes widening. “I thought you would’ve bumbled around that for another three weeks at _least_.”

“Makki!”

“Eh, I don’t think he’s _that_ helpless,” Matsukawa says. “How’d he react?”

“ _Beautifully_ ,” Oikawa sighs.

Iwaizumi finally speaks up, leaning against the wall. “Something tells me we aren’t going to hear the end of this.”

“Oh?” Oikawa says, sitting up slightly. “Jealous I made the first move, Iwa-chan?”

“I’d hardly call a kiss on the cheek a move.”

_“Iwa-chan!”_

“Shh,” Matsukawa says, reaching his hand out to silence Iwaizumi. “I wanna hear more about this. So what was his face like?”

Iwaizumi sits down on the couch with Hanamaki as Oikawa flops back down, his hair falling back from his face as he hums.

“Y’know how wide his eyes get? Like he’s staring right into your soul?” Oikawa tells them, almost boasting at this point. “He looked so soft, all windswept, face practically bare— the ocean spray washed off most of his makeup, and his freckles, oh my god _his freckles_.” Oikawa pauses, closing his eyes. “He smells like citrus, really bright. And we held hands! _Twice!_ ”

“Were you gonna kiss him? Like, for real?” Hanamaki asks, leaning in in curiosity and suspense.

Oikawa’s face falls slightly. “I wanted to,” he admits. “But I—”

“You chickened out,” Matsukawa says, looking down at his nails.

“I did not!” Oikawa exclaims, shooting upright again. “I just want to take it slow, is all.”

Iwaizumi blinks, surprised at Oikawa’s almost admirable response. “Really?” he asks, not quite believing it. “It sounds like Hinata would’ve thought you were gonna kiss him too.”

Oikawa covers his face with his hands. “I think he did,” he whispers, excited with disbelief. “I got to hold his chin, oh my god.”

And despite the teasing that ensues, no one can doubt the stirrings of envy, of the desperate imagination of their own of what it could be like, with Hinata lips against theirs, imagining the shimmer and gleam of his eyes, the glow of his cheeks. They all hold that same affection inside their chests, the same schoolboy-yearning to call Hinata _love_ , _darling_ , to hold his hand or press kisses to his lips. It’s hard not to have heartbeats fall out of time, moving too fast in the daydream of Hinata’s eyes and his smile.

It’s like a catalyst, the spur of Oikawa’s sort-of kiss. Despite how Iwaizumi may argue, it’s technically the first move made by any of them. It sparks something between them all, a little change noticeable only if you’re looking for it, a kind of acceptance and acknowledgement  of their feelings for Hinata Shouyou.

For now, Oikawa smiles, lets bliss overtake him as he stares up at the ceiling, imagines if he had just tilted his head to the left and kissed him for real. It’s not regret as much as it is a wish, a hopeful sigh of a crush he’s harboured for months, of feelings he could’ve confessed. They have all the time in the world, and Oikawa practices his patience, replays the moment over in his head and dreams up ways of telling Hinata how he feels, knowing that the other three are dreaming the same thing.

—

It’s long since Hinata’s first time walking through the HQ building, and long since his first time doing so alone. Now, people recognize him, half as the model that’s been working through the industry, half as the boy who’s almost glued to seij-OH when they’re around. The anxiety of walking through the lobby still lingers, but he’s able to do so without feeling as if he’ll self destruct every time he does so. Now, he slips into the elevator, selecting the floor where most of the dance studios are on, and heads up to meet Hanamaki.

With the new album comes new dances for music videos, new choreography to perform on stage. It’s become a little daily hangout session this week— when Hinata’s done modelling and Hanamaki’s scheduled to work in studio, Hinata will join him for no other reason but to watch him work and enjoy his company.

Well, that and check him out. He can’t deny that Hanamaki looks gorgeous in loose black sweatpants and a plain white tank, sheer enough that the colour of his skin makes it darker in the shadows. The studio lights are warm, accentuates every hollow and curve of toned muscle he shows off as he dances, running through steps with intensity with or without music. Today he’s working on staging, which, while being a little less physical and a lot more frustrating. Hanamaki goes through every person’s part three times before moving on, having to restart and redo if he finds any errors. It’s tedious work, and Hinata can see how it pulls on the frays on Hanamaki’s sanity.

After another unsatisfactory runthrough, Hanamaki turns off the music, collapsing on the ground next to Hinata as he reaches for his water bottle. Hinata watches as he takes a swig, sweat lining his hair, water trickling down his skin as his adam’s apple bobs and _god_ does he need to look away before he makes a fool of himself.

“You know, it won’t hurt to take a break,” Hinata tells Hanamaki. “I— I don’t know much about dance, but maybe that’d give you enough chance to get in a different state of mind.”

Hanamaki finishes chugging his water, pulling away to wipe the back of his hand against his mouth, lips swollen and bitten— a habit of concentration when practicing. He tilts his head, staring down Hinata as he catches his breath.

“Different state of mind, huh?” he says, corner of his mouth quirking upwards.

Hinata suddenly feels like he’s made a grave, grave mistake.

“Well,” Hanamaki says, putting his water bottle to the side. “I do have this choreography I used for a workshop last year, if you want to see it.”

Hinata’s breath gets caught in his throat. “A-are you sure performing will destress you?”

Hanamaki grins, standing up to look down at him. “If it’s for you it will.”

Hinata has to fight the swoon as Hanamaki fiddles with his phone, selecting a song before moving to stand in the centre of the studio. Hinata’s leaning against the mirror, so Hanamaki stares straight at him as the bass of the song kicks in, thrumming through the empty studio loud and clear.

[ _I’ve been drinkin’, I’ve been drinkin’_ — ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wVSfL6-SZUw)

And Hanamaki _dances,_ movements sharp and seductive, hands moving rhythmic and smooth, like water. Suddenly, everything becomes sharp, and Hanamaki drops forwards like a rag doll, flinging back into a bend that shows off the strength of his core. He leans down again, running his hands up his legs, and oh, Hinata’s tongue becomes heavy in his mouth.

 _Drunk in love_ , _and we be all night_ , _everything alright_ —

Hanamaki winks at him, licking his lips as he squats down, kicking out his legs before bending on himself, rolling onto his knees so that his ass is stuck up in the air as he gyrates his hips, arching his back. Hinata tries not to imagine himself underneath Hanamaki and fails miserably, shifting so that he’s sitting in a cross legged position as Hanamaki rolls within a few feet of him. Hanamaki grins, smug, knowing exactly what he’s doing to him as he runs a hand up his shirt, another snapping the waistband of his sweats before he spins around and bends back completely.

Hinata’s breath is stolen completely, and he watches as Hanamaki crawls backwards before rolling over onto his stomach, practically grinding against the floor. Hinata’s mind goes back to being under him again, to feeling the friction of Hanamaki’s hips against his instead of the floor. Hinata really starts to wonder if this dance was meant for a stripper rather than a hip hop dancer, but all coherent thought is thrown out the window as Hanamaki rolls over to thrust his hips upwards before rising onto his knees.

 _Then I fill the tub up halfway and ride it with my surfboard_ —

Oh.

 _Surfboard, grinding on that wood, grinding on that wood_ —

Hanamaki drops down to the floor, spreading his thighs apart before snapping them together and jolting upright, sinking back down as he throws his head back, exposing the pale column of his throat as a hand slides down his spread thigh. He continues rolling his hips, looking Hinata dead in the eye as a tongue darts across his lips.

Slowly, he stands up, walking towards the centre of the room and pulling up his shirt, bending his knees so that he’s closing to Hinata’s eye level. Hinata ogles his abs, defined and toned, very much right in his face as Hanamaki slows his movements to a near halt.

“Enjoy the view?” Hanamaki asks, tugging on the hem.

“Yes,” Hinata breathes before he even realizes what he’s said. Hanamaki seems to like that answer, his face splitting into a huge grin.

“Oh?” he asks. Hinata gulps, watching wide eyed as Hanamaki pulls his tank top off completely, throwing it into some far corner of the room. “You wanna touch?”

Hinata’s got to be dreaming. There is no way in god’s good earth or Satan's fiery _hell_ that Hanamaki Takahiro has just invited him to touch his abs. And yet, here he is, Hanamaki leaning down to grab his wrist and pull him to a stand, their bodies nearly flush. Hinata’s entire body blushes, and Hanamaki grabs his hand in his own, spindly fingers guiding his small palm down the expanse of his stomach, down the ripples of his abdomen.

“O-oh— Makki, w-what— I… I can’t—” Hinata sputters, his voice cracking beyond his control.

“What, cat got your tongue?” Hanamaki teases with a smirk, tongue caught between teeth as he rotates his hips, slower than when he was dancing, but still to the beat of the music that continues to thrum through the studio. Hinata doesn’t pull away, mind dizzy with the reality of Hanamaki grinding on him, his other hand travelling around to slip down to the small of Hinata’s back, right above his rear. Hinata’s breath shudders, his eyes lidding as the rap of the song starts, Hanamaki’s movements becoming a little more like the dances done in clubs as his other hand continues to drift Hinata’s fingers across his chest.

Experimentally, Hinata pushes forwards a little bit and god, what is he doing? Nothing really makes sense, because he’s dancing (if you can call it that) with Hanamaki in a studio anyone can walk into, hand dangerously close to his waistband, Hanamaki’s dangerously close to his ass. Despite it all, Hinata revels in it, inhales deeply before licking his lips and looking up at Hanamaki with big, wide doe eyes, a thousand emotions conveyed in a single glance.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Hanamaki groans. “Well aren’t you a tease.”

“S-says you,” Hinata stammers, slipping his hand up so that it slings over Hanamaki’s shoulder. “Isn’t that what they say about models, or something?”

Hanamaki barks out a laugh, swaying to the side and pulling Hinata against him. “I honestly just wanted to dance. This is just a bonus.”

“Really?” Hinata asks, raising a brow, and dear lord are they _flirting_?

“Really,” Hanamaki echoes, his voice raspy and showing just how worked up he’s gotten in return.

Hinata pulls Hanamaki down a little closer, so that their faces are within inches of touching. Hanamaki moves his hand so that it rests at the nape of Hinata’s neck, drawing him in closer and closer until their noses brush, eyes fluttering shut as Hinata rises to his toes. Hanamaki’s breath smells fruity, and Hinata’s so close to just—

“Hanamaki, have you—?” a voice says, suddenly breaking the trance and snapping the two’s faces towards the door where Shimizu Kiyoko stands, eyes just as wide with surprise as theirs. All three stare like deer in the headlights for a moment, Hinata and Hanamaki still in each other’s arms until Kiyoko shakes her head.

“Never… nevermind. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

With that, she leaves, slamming the door behind her and leaving the two alone with the fading bassline.

Hinata looks back to Hanamaki, unsure of what to say. The tension doesn't dissipate, even as they pull apart slightly, their hands still touching as Hinata looks to the clock on the wall. Hanamaki, following his gaze, swears.

“Shit, it’s already late,” he notes. “Do you want me to drive you back to your apartment? Oikawa left his keys.”

“Yeah,” Hinata says, catching his breath as his heart slows. “M-Makki?”

“Yeah?” Hanamaki says, turning back to him, tilting his head.

“N-nice dance.”

Hanamaki freezes for a split second before smiling. “You didn’t do too bad yourself. Now c’mon,” he says. “Let’s get you home.”

And in spite of the hurricane of emotions that storms in Hinata’s chest, he smiles, accepts, and takes Hanamaki’s hand in his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c i hope u guys enjoyed the chapter!! please dont kill us.
> 
> the link is to the dance hanamaki does, i promise. and i'll post the full pics of the boys' twitter icons onto my art blog (@mookarts) if you wanna check them out.
> 
> and as always you can gush to me or kj on tumblr about matsuhanaiwaoihina or any of the hinas that come with it @mooksmookin and @spacegaykj


	7. spring to the cherry trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY WE'RE BACK WITH ANOTHER IDOL AU CHAPTER AND I WANNA GIVE A BIG SHOUT OUT TO @gamwilliams ON TUMBLR WHO DREW US [THIS AMAZING FANART](https://gamwilliams.tumblr.com/post/160601834137/a-fanart-for-mooksmookin-spacegaykjs) THANK YOU SO MUCH ME AND KJ BOTH REALLY LOVE IT!!!
> 
> honestly kj and i never expected this fic to get this big but gosh we both really appreciate every kudos and comment from you guys it makes our day!! and also sadly... next chapter is the last chapter for part one. so please dont forget to subscribe to the series for when the next part comes out! love you guys bunches!!
> 
> now without further ado, onto arguably the gayest chapter yet. as always, written by the lovely kj and beta'd by me, mooks!

Modelling makeup isn’t something Hinata often gets the chance to do, but when he does, it’s a treat. He’s expressive when it comes to displaying emotion with just his face, has always had the kind of toned skin that makes a makeup artist drool before painting on straight brows and gradient lipstick, highlighting and contouring with a grin. He hasn’t quite gotten the hang of sitting still for shots that close and personal, but he loves it all the same.

Sugawara, however, adores it. It’s their forte, staring down the camera and using their entire body while only their face is in frame. Hinata picks up on their movements as they work, trying to replicate the motions while keeping his shoulders from tensing. It’s a learning curve, and he definitely likes fashion a bit more, but he takes in the experience with a smile and all the seriousness in the world.

When the shoot is done, and Hinata’s pulling the layers of makeup off of his face (or rather, the makeup artist is, with some kind of solution that _still_ isn’t getting all of the lipstick off) Sugawara comes up behind him, placing their elbows on the back of his chair.

“So,” they say, eyes glinting. “There’s a plan to crash at Kuroo’s place tonight. Junk food, movies, maybe face masks, the whole bit.”

“Does he know about this?” Hinata asks.

“Oh, of course,” Sugawara assures him with a wave. “It’s gonna be a little get together, and you can spill your woes and we can make sure our boss doesn’t work himself into the grave.” They step out of the way so the makeup artist can get better leverage on Hinata’s face, still trying desperately to wipe off the lipstick. “Bokuto’s gonna be there—”

“The actor?” Hinata asks. He’s only really met him once, and it was in passing— all Hinata knows is that he’s loud and takes a liking to his enthusiasm.

“Yeah! Kuroo and him are really close. Bokuto was the first actor he really signed, after all,” Sugawara explains. “Even now, with all his success, Bokuto still acts like a wild animal if Kuroo’s around. He’s the reason why Kuroo isn’t a heap of tension all of the time.”

“Wow,” Hinata breathes, half starstruck, half taken aback. “Is anyone else coming?”

“Yep! Nishinoya and Alisa are too, and I’m _hoping_ Kageyama will turn up.”

Hinata lights up at the idea, nodding fervently and nearly headbutting the makeup artist. She winces, backing away as Hinata smiles apologetically at her. “That sounds great, Sugawara!” Hinata exclaims. He somehow manages to smack the makeup artist again, apologizing quickly. “Uh, maybe I’ll just keep the lipstick on.”

Sugawara laughs, brushing their hair from their face. “It’s a good look. You should go send your friends a picture before it fades,” they tell him. “I’ll text you the time and whatever. Remember to bring a charger!” With that, they flash a smile and leave, turning on their heel and slipping out of the studio.

Left alone to his own devices, Hinata spins around in the salon chair, kicking his feet absentmindedly before grabbing his phone from where it sits on the vanity, covered in a thin layer of powder. He blows it off quickly, unlocking it to snap a quick picture off his face— bare save the red lip stain. The lighting is bright, and he’s thankful for how it glows out the shadows and redness from scrubbing off the makeup as he sends the photo to the group chat with the others, humming as he waits for a response.

_hinata!!!: [image sent]_

_hinata!!!: lolololol they couldnt get the lipstick off me!!!!!!!_

He waits a few moments before tucking the phone back into his pants, reaching to gather his stuff into his duffel bag and throw on his coat. It’s not unusual for the boys to be busy during the day— despite the album being finished, promotional photos and the such still need to be taken, dances need to be _actually_ practiced, all very time consuming tasks. Hinata realizes that, and keeps his anticipation at a response under lock and key, only fluttering a _tiny_ bit when his phone goes off.

 _Iwa_ _（´・｀ ）♡: Y_ _ou look gorgeous Hinata. Who were you shooting for again?_

Hinata flails slightly, phone slipping out of his hands in a flustered mess of glee at Iwaizumi’s compliment. Blushing, he opens back up his messages, thinking up a coherent reply.

_hinata!!!: stylenanda’s new lipstick line!!  and thank youuuuuuu (⁄ ⁄^⁄ᗨ⁄^⁄ ⁄) !!!_

_Iwa_ _（_ _´・｀ ）♡: No  problem, it’s a really good look for yuo_ _.._ _you shoudl wear red lips more often_

 _Iwa_ _（_ _´・｀ ）♡: *should *you_

 _Iwa_ _（_ _´・｀ ）♡: I gotta get back to practice, talk later?_

Hinata suppresses a noise oddly akin to a sigh from the back of his throat, leaning back into the chair, duffle bag forgotten.

_hinata!!!: theres a model sleepover thing at kuroos tonight, but i can text you!!!!!!!_

_Iwa_ _（_ _´・｀ ）♡: Sounds good, have fun_

Hinata smiles, locking his phone with a click. He really should get his feelings in check, because judging by the looks of the people around him, he looks like an idiot. With a dumbfounded grin and not a care in the world, he slings his bag back over his shoulder, heading out of the studio. Excitement still buzzes inside of him at Iwaizumi’s words, _gorgeous_ echoing inside of his head like a constant reminder to make him blush. As Hinata jogs down the stairs and pulls his mask up over his mouth, he finds himself unable to even be mad about it.

—

Hinata’s not sure if it’s a penthouse suite thing, or whether the walls in the hallway towards Kuroo’s flat are just thin, or if the people inside are just talking especially loud, but as he makes his way there, he can hear chatter as clear as day, laughter and hushed words from voices he recognizes well.

“Shhh, or he’ll wake up—”

“Aw, don’t be a buzz kill! Besides, Kuroo sleeps like a rock. Once I poured orange juice on his face—”

“Bokuto, how the _hell_ did that happen?”

Hinata grins, walking a little faster towards the door, not bothering to knock once he realizes it’s already halfway ajar. Shutting it closed behind him, he takes a second to look at the scene in front of him.

As much as Kuroo tries to keep a cool and composed demeanor about him, Hinata’s been able to spot the cracks in it in the months he’s been working for him, from the excitement he gets over obscure news findings to his random knowledge in slightly geeky culture. Now, his entire mask has been ripped off as he lies haphazardly on his designer couch, wearing a pair of superman pajama pants and some kind of worn shirt from a charity event. His face, however, is the _piece de resistance_ , scribbled over with what looks to be either long wear eyeliner or sharpie, complete with an obscure sketch of a dick on his forehead.

“Shouyou!” Nishinoya yells, spotting him in the doorway. He’s sat cross legged on an avant garde looking beanbag, a bowl of assorted candies in his lap nearly spilling as he waves.

“Oh, did Shimpy arrive?” Bokuto booms from where he looms over Kuroo’s face, continuing his artistic quest on drawing on it.

“Y-yes!” Hinata squeaks, and you’d think after months of being in the industry he’d be used to talking to celebrities. He quickly kicks off his shoes, not wanting to linger in the doorway. Dropping his bag out of the way, he walks towards Kuroo’s sleeping figure, taking a closer look at his face. “Is that supposed to be a… dolphin?”

From the loveseat, Sugawara cackles. “Oh, Hinata, never lose that obliviousness, please,” they plead. Beside them, Alisa idly paints their toenails a shimmery pink, her silvery blonde hair pulled up into a messy ponytail.

Hinata smiles, sitting down on the plush rug in front of the couch. “Is Kageyama actually coming?”

“Oh, he’s here!” Nishinoya says. “He’s upstairs getting his stuff put away— we’re gonna crash in Kuroo’s guest rooms.”

“I’m taking the couch if Kuroo ever wakes up!” Bokuto exclaims, patting the cushions near Kuroo’s face hard enough that everyone momentarily holds their breaths, praying he doesn’t wake. When he snores once more, the tension fades, and everyone goes back to what they were doing.

“You can just throw your stuff upstairs in one of the rooms,” Alisa tells him, looking over her shoulder. “Oh, and there’s pop in the mini fridge bar thing over there.”

Hinata nods, standing back up to grab his bag and a can of pop, heading up the spiral staircase to the upstairs area of Kuroo’s penthouse apartment. Hinata doesn’t want to imagine just how much it must cost, and judging by the detailed walls and hardwood floors, it’s a number with more zeros than he can fathom.

After pushing his bag into one of the empty rooms, he turns back to make his way downstairs, skipping slightly as he goes. It’s only when he runs into the back of a tall figure that he freezes, taking a few steps back once the person turns around.

Kageyama Tobio glares at him for a few moments flicking his eyes up and down as Hinata desperately apologizes. It’s not as if they’re on bad terms— after being forced to work together on more occasions to count they’re developed a healthy rivalry that seems to only come out when Hinata does something to piss Kageyama off— but it’s hard _not_ to be intimidated when he’s faced with blue eyes boring a hole through his head.

“You’re here?” he asks, incredulously.

“I was thinking the same thing!” Hinata exclaims, a little too peppy for the current situation. Kageyama seems a little taken aback by that, but regains his composure, continuing forwards with Hinata trailing behind.

“I saw you made Vogue Japan’s top new model list,” he comments. “You’re gonna have to work harder now that you’ve proved you’ve got enough talent to survive.”

Hinata smiles at the pseudo-threat, knowing it’s just Kageyama’s attempt at giving a compliment. Together, they push down the stairs, racing for the last chair. Hinata manages to snag it, nearly knocking it over in the process. In the end it’s worth it for the expression of frustration that flashes across Kageyama’s face when he sees Hinata smile down at him. It may or may not earn Hinata a smack on the skin, but he doesn’t care. He cracks open the pop he got, taking a large swig of it before turning his gaze over to where Bokuto and Kuroo are.

“Uh, question,” Hinata says. “Why is Kuroo asleep?”

“Because he overworks himself,” Bokuto says simply. “ _And_ because I threatened to call his moms on him if he didn’t, and there’s nothing scarier than two accomplished women babying over you.”

“The dream,” Alisa muses, finishing off Sugawara’s toenails. “One that I am living, kind of.”

“I think you spoil Saeko more,” Sugawara comments, wiggling their toes.

“It’s a joint effort.”

“Saeko?” Hinata asks, confused. “The racecar driver?”

“My girlfriend,” Alisa sings, smiling sweetly as she does so. “God, she’s great.”

Nishinoya groans, throwing his head back. “Stop talking about your love life when the rest of us are single and tired of hearing it!”

“I’m not single,” Sugawara comments. “And from what I’ve heard, Hinata isn’t…”

In all of three seconds, five pairs of eyes and five voice shout various things of surprise as Hinata spits out his soda, nearly spraying a disgruntled Kageyama.

“T-that’s not true!” Hinata exclaims, slamming his hand down.

“Hm? The proofs I saw from the car commercial say otherwise,” Sugawara tells him. “Those romantic gazes sure are something.”

“Wait,” Alisa says as Hinata sputters out something that sounds a little like _it was just acting!_ “I thought you and Matsukawa had a thing? He was at the _Lad Musician_ shoot a little while ago and if that wasn’t flirting—”

“It wasn’t!” Hinata squawks.

“Hmhm?” Sugawara hums with a raise of their brow. “What’s this I hear?”

“Dude, I thought you and Hanamaki had a thing, like a poly-whatever thing since he’s with Matsukawa,” Nishinoya says. “He snuck backstage just to see you and all.”

“You had someone backstage?!” Kageyama exclaims.  

“Uh, yeah?” Hinata says. “Hanamaki likes to sneak back, but Iwaizumi did too for the last runway with _Satoru Tanaka_ _._ ”

“Christ, ya got yourself a whole band there,” Bokuto says. He pushes Kuroo so that his sleeping body leans over the other side of the couch.

“So who is it?” Alisa asks, idly grabbing one of Kageyama’s hands and pulling it towards her. “Or is it all of them?”

“Ohoho?” Bokuto hoots, leaning in.

“None of them!” Hinata says, exasperated. “We’re just _friends_.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re ‘just friends’ to me,” Alisa shoot back as she begins to paint Kageyama’s nails.

“Oh, he’s just being modest,” Sugawara says. “Just look at their instagrams, twitters, talk to them in person, whatever. Hinata, you’ve got ‘em all wrapped around your finger.” Sugawara crosses their legs, resting their chin onto their hand. “You have no choice but to spill now.”

“It’s not— there’s nothing _to_ spill!” Hinata says in fervent denial.

“Your face is red,” Kageyama points out.

“You _like_ them, don’t you?” Alisa asks with an elated giggle, placing her hand over her mouth.

Hinata buries his face into his hands, knowing that there’s no point in trying to fight them any longer. With a sigh, he flops his head into a pillow, not wanting to face them when he finally confesses.

“It’s not like any of them like me like that anyways,” Hinata says, voice muffled but still audible through the pillow.

Nishinoya pulls it away from him before bouncing back to his spot. “Sounds like a lie to me.”

“Hinata, in the last _week,_ what’s the gayest thing they’ve done to you?” Sugawara asks.

Immediately, Hinata feels his face explode into a bright red with the memory of Hanamaki’s bare abs underneath his fingertips, Hanamaki grinding against him, Hanamaki leaning down for a kiss.

“W-well,” he stammers. “Hanamaki, um, uh, danced for me.”

“Specifics!” Bokuto shouts. “He dances for a living, _c’mon_.”

“Was it like, a dance, or a _dance_?” Nishinoya asks, waggling his eyebrows.

“I-I don’t know what that means,” Hinata says, and it’s so clear he’s lying that even Kageyama looks at him with a roll of his eyes.

“What, he didn’t give you a lap dance or anything, did he?” Alisa jokes. Hinata doesn’t know if his face becomes white as a ghost or red as a tomato, but the instant his eyes widen he knows he’s doomed. For once, everyone stays quiet, knowing looks in their eyes as they await his response.

“W-well, it wasn’t really a _lap_ dance!” Hinata insists. “He just, kind of… have you seen that _Drunk In Love_ workshop routine? He said it was a workshop routine.”

“I’ll google it,” Sugawara says, grabbing their phone.

Five minutes later, everyone stares shocked and surprised at Hinata. Bokuto laughs, breaking the silence.

“He did that dance for you? _Alone,_ in a studio?” he asks, enthused.

“Er, and he uh… maybetookofhisshirtandgotmetotouchhisabs,” Hinata says, slurring together his words.

“What?!” Sugawara exclaims. “He took off his shirt?”

“You touched his abs?” Nishinoya asks.

“Yes?” Hinata squeaks. “He lifted up his shirt, and then took it off, and then we were dancing or grinding and he said I could touch them so I did—”

“Oh my _god—_ ”

“—and then he leaned in and maybe wanted to kiss me but—”

“ _Christ—_ ”

“—his manager walked in and that was that,” Hinata finishes.

Everyone erupts into questions, jumping down Hinata’s throat in seconds.

“Calm down!” Hinata blushes, laughing nervously. “He was just pent up or whatever, it was the dance.”

“Hinata,” Sugawara tells him. “Hanamaki has a boyfriend who he, let’s be honest, has no shame in flirting with or touching already. And leaning in for a kiss is _not_ dancing.”

“Look, it’s not the first time one of them tried to kiss me! It might just be normal for them!” Hinata says.

Alisa very nearly drops her bottle of nail polish, saving it from spilling over Kageyama’s pants in her surprise. “Hinata, what the hell?!”

“Please tell me you and Oikawa kissed in the backseat of that car,” Sugawara pleads.

Hinata covers his face. “It wasn’t in the backseat of the car!” he exclaims. “And it was just on the cheek!”

Collectively, the group groans. Even Kageyama shoots him a disbelieving stare. Bokuto whistles, shaking his head.

“Hinata, you have game,” he tells him.

“And yet you don’t even know it!” Nishinoya yells. “Seriously, how could they _not_ like you?!”

“His boys are practically drooling over him,” Alisa says.

“T-they aren’t my boys!” Hinata shouts.

The others laugh, a myriad of _sure about that?_ mixed in with the giggles. Hinata takes a drink of his pop, face too hot from all of the talk of “his boys.” All the attention is drawn from him, however, when Kuroo begins to stir, rubbing his eyes and sitting up straight.

“Mwhas’that all ambout?” he slurs, pushing his bangs out of his face. His bedhead honestly doesn’t look all that different from his normal hair, which makes Hinata wonder if he really ever styles it or just rolls out of bed and prays it looks somewhat decent. He looks around at everyone in his living room, taking it all in with a look of confusion before standing up, completely unaware of the mess on his face.

“Bokuto,” he says, closing his eyes. “If you drew _anything_ on my face, you’re paying for the food.”

Bokuto snorts. “One, I would never do that, and two, like that matters.”

Kuroo reaches out, smothering his face with his palm before walking towards the washroom. Everyone hushes their silent snickers until they hear the door creak open, holding their breaths as the light click on. A few pregnant seconds pass in total quiet as Kuroo likely takes in his reflection.

“Mother _fucker_!” he yells, voice muffled from the other room.

No one even tries to hold back their laughter.

—

Later that night, once Kuroo’s face has been thoroughly scrubbed from all obscene body parts and phrases and Bokuto has spent his cash on the most expensive takeout Hinata’s ever tried, the seven pop popcorn and sit around the TV, some cheesy superhero movie playing on the screen in the background. Hinata’s been kicked out of the chair and pushed onto the floor, Alisa now working on painting his fingernails. Bokuto stole and stashed Kuroo’s laptop somewhere so he wouldn't spend the night working, and while Kageyama and Nishinoya stay intently focused on the movie, Sugawara stays focused on other people’s love lives.

“All I’m saying is, Kuroo, you’re showing the signs of a crush on Kenma Kozume here,” Sugawara says.

“Finding someone pretty and having a crush are two different things,” Kuroo assures them, tossing a piece of popcorn into Bokuto’s mouth.

“You compared his eyes to the sun,” Sugawara tells him. “You said his hair glows.”

Hinata hums. “And you’re constantly messaging Kenma. He even pauses his game for you,” Hinata adds.

Kuroo lights up. “Really?” he asks, just as Bokuto went to reach for some more popcorn, smacking him in the nose.

“Hopeless, all of you,” Alisa comments, looking up from Hinata’s nails.

Kuroo finishes his faux wrestling match with Bokuto over the popcorn, having fatally lost the snack. “I’m not hopeless,” he says. “But, ah, Hinata?”

“Yeah?” Hinata asks with a tilt of his head.

“Does, uh, Kenma ever mention me?”

“Not really,” Hinata says. “Only in passing, I guess.”

Kuroo groans, smushing his head into the pillows as Bokuto laughs. Distantly, Hinata wonders if they’ll ever get past the awkwardness of dancing around each other and mutually suffering. Kuroo mumbles some more, collecting the empty glasses and cans to bring to the trash.

Hinata’s mind is brought elsewhere when his phone blings from where it rests on the coffee table. Hands preoccupied with being painted, Hinata moves too slow to grab his phone, Sugawara swiftly snatching it before he can grab it.

“Oh?” Sugawara says. “A message from _‘tall dark and handsome?’_ Who could this be?”

Hinata’s face goes blank. “No no no, please—”

“What does it say?” Alisa asks with a mischievous grin, holding his hands tightly in place.

Sugawara clears their throat, holding the phone further away from Hinata. “It reads as follows,” they say. “‘ _Hey babe_ ’—several e’s, a heart emoji. ‘ _Iwa told me you_ ,’ spelt just the letter, ‘ _are at a modelling sleepover tonight, and that he’s too busy to chat. You,’_ again, spelt just the letter, _‘wanna call and chat before you head to sleep?_ ’” They set the phone down on their lap looking over at Hinata with a wide, smug grin teasing across their face. “Hinata, don’t tell me you’re having naughty phone conversations!”

“Oh my god, _no_!” Hinata shouts. “Gimme back my phone!”

“No matter how you cut it, that’s pretty gay,” Bokuto says from the couch. “What’cha gonna reply?”

“Yes, obviously,” Alisa answers for him. “And, because I have a sense of decency, we won’t listen in at all.”

“Through the walls is fair game,” Sugawara challenges. “I can’t reply to this message, so here’s your phone back.”

Nails still drying, Hinata takes back his phone, swiping open the lock screen to reply with _yes of course!!!_ before turning it off and stashing it away in his pocket for later.

The night continues on without much more gossip on his love life, conversation flowing more towards the newest runway fashions, Bokuto’s latest on set bloopers, or _more_ attempts by Kuroo to get some information about Kenma out of him. In the end, they watch another two superhero movies for Nishinoya’s and Kageyama’s entertainment, all of them actually paying attention to the last and best one. With the hours dwindling further into the night, their conversations become less and less coherent, until one by one they call it quits.

Hinata takes that moment to snag the upstairs bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, rushing a little bit so that he can have more time on the phone with Matsukawa. Knowing the walls are far from soundproof, Hinata chooses to keep his voice down as low as he can, sitting on the counter as he listens to the dial tone and waits for Matsukawa to pick up.

 _“Hey babe,”_ Matsukawa greets him, and Hinata wonders if what he hears is Matsukawa’s smile over the phone. Hinata feels his shoulders lift, as if his body suddenly became a little bit lighter after hearing Matsukawa call him _babe_. _“How was your night?”_

“Lots of gossip. Sugawara and Alisa are relentless,” Hinata tells him. “But it doesn’t matter. How are you? You had your photoshoot for the album cover stuff, right?”

 _“I’m good, but I’d be better if you were here,”_ Matsukawa says. Hinata feels his cheeks heat up, covering them with his free hand. “ _I miss you. Haven’t seen you in a week, what the hell,”_ Matsukawa says. _“The photoshoot was… interesting. Oikawa walked into a lamp. Nothing new. I’m excited to show you the proofs_ — _and the songs, of course. I think you’ll like this album a lot.”_

Hinata forces his wandering mind away from ideas of what the shoot could’ve been like. “I’m excited to see the songs too.”

_“See the songs?”_

Hinata mentally berates himself over the blunder. “I-I meant hear the songs, see the proofs,” he stammers, correcting himself.

A soft laugh breaks through the receiver of the phone. _“You’re adorable. Don’t worry.”_ Matsukawa pauses for a moment, the lapse in speaking giving Hinata enough time to come down from his embarrassment. _“I’ve been meaning to ask though, are you allergic to anything? Pollen, plants, animals?”_

Hinata’s heart jumps into his throat, beating loud in his ears. “Um, no, no allergies. Why?”

_“No reason, no reason. There’s this cute cat café that opened up near my place, if you want to go together. I know Makki wants to go, too. We can make it a date and everything.”_

“A-a date?” Hinata repeats slowly, voice catching as he tries to keep it down.

 _“Mhm, it’d be nice. I can pick you up from Kuroo’s and we can have brunch,”_ Matsukawa tells him. _“What do you say?”_

Hinata fights the urge to scream as he controls his breathing, smile stretching so wide across his face it hurts. “Yeah, I’d love that,” he whispers, biting his lip in glee. “You gonna bring your motorbike?”

 _“Do you want me to? I’m down to if you want,”_ Matsukawa offers.

Hinata feels his ears heat to a thousand degrees. “I mean, o-only if it won’t inconvenience you or anything. It’d be nice, yeah.”

_“Then it’s done. Does ten o’clock sound good?”_

“Yeah, yo— it’s wonderful.”

_“Amazing. Sleep tight, babe. Don’t dream too much about me.”_

Hinata stifles an embarrassed laugh, his entire face heating up as he wishes Matsukawa goodnight and hangs up. Hopping off the sink, he turns on the tap and splashes his face with cool water. In the back of his head, he knows he’s just third wheeling with a couple of friends who happen to be dating. For now, he relishes in the beauty of being asked out for brunch, pretends that they feel the same way about him, and leaves the bathroom with roses and Matsukawa’s smooth voice on his mind. And if he sees a silver head of hair slip back into the shadows, he’s much too happy to care.

When Hinata slips into the guest bed that night, it’s with dark hair on his mind and Matsukawa in his dreams, smirking and laughing and holding him tight. Hinata dreams about him, and even if it’s against Matsukawa’s teasing wishes, nothing stops his mind from imagining them together.

—

The good thing about being an earlier riser is the time spent alone. With everyone else sleeping in as much as the sun would let them, Hinata ends up being the only one awake. Hinata is every ounce grateful for it after the entire night of gossip and questionnaires, knowing very well that he’d never be left alone if they saw him leave with Matsukawa. The only downside, of course, was trying to navigate his way quietly out of Kuroo’s apartment.

Tiptoeing down the stairs, bag slung over his shoulder, Hinata takes heed of the creaking steps as he rounds down to the living room. On the couch sleeps Bokuto, dead to the world and certainly not aware of Hinata as he reaches the foyer to tie up his shoes. As he does so, his phone blings in his back pocket, soft and muffled enough not to make too much noise. Hinata stands straight, fishing it out and looking at the message.

_tall dark and handsome: just waiting outside_

Hinata shuts off his phone, slipping it back into his pocket. Carefully, he opens the front door, closing it softly behind him before letting out a sigh of relief. It’s a few moments before he looks up, and when he does, he’s greeted with dark brown eyes staring down at him as Matsukawa Issei leans against the wall opposite him.

“Oh!” Hinata jumps, surprised. “You came up.”

Matsukawa smiles, leaning off of the wall and shifting his helmet to rest under his other arm. “I am picking you up, aren’t I?” he says, reaching to sling an arm over Hinata’s shoulders. Hinata’s stomach flutters, but he manages to keep Matsukawa close, his body heat seeping through Hinata’s shirt as they walk towards the elevator.

There’s a split second, as they wait for the elevator, where Hinata wonders if Matsukawa will pull away. He waits for it, braces for the loss of contact only for Matsukawa’s arm to slip from around his shoulders to around his waist, tugging him closer as the elevator arrives.

The ride down is filled with silence, one part contemplative, three parts comfort as Hinata allows himself to rest his head onto Matsukawa’s shoulder. His cologne is strong enough to muddle his senses, the scent of spice and pine ebbing amber as Hinata relishes in Matsukawa’s touch, not bothering to be subtle about how he breathes in his scent.

Despite what he may think, Hinata really isn’t as ready as he thought for riding the motorcycle again. Matsukawa smirks knowingly as they approach it in the parking garage, turning so that he and Hinata face each other. Reaching over to the bike, Matsukawa grabs the helmet he uses for Hinata and pushes it over his head, wordlessly tying the strap around his chin. Whether he notices how Hinata holds his breath when his fingertips dance over his skin, or how Hinata stares up at him with eyes wide and _wanting_ or not, Matsukawa only knocks lightly on Hinata’s helmet, stepping back to put his own on.

“You ready?” he asks, licking his lips with a self satisfied grin.

Hinata tries not to pass out as he nods, climbing onto the bike after Matsukawa and wrapping his arms tightly around his torso. The engine revs underneath them, roaring to life as Matsukawa speeds out of the parking garage, not bothering to ease into the pace like he had before. Hinata doesn’t mind, but it scares a yelp out of him involuntarily as they tear off into the sunlight of the city.

Hinata’s a little less nervous about the closeness of their bodies now, but it doesn't change how his heartbeat skips when he ends up flush against Matsukawa’s back, their bodies pressed closer together than Hinata’s poor soul can take. Luckily, the cafe is close enough that they don't spend too much time back to chest. Hinata ignores the pang in his chest when they park outside of the cafe, his connection between Matsukawa broken out of sheer necessity. He’s soon distracted by Hanamaki, waving from the cafe window with a cat perched on his shoulder, completely nonchalant to his waving.

Together, they enter the cafe— it’s small, with a little take out counter and a few couches and tables scattered within the room. Matsukawa leads Hinata to where Hanamaki is sitting, greeting his boyfriend with a quick kiss before they sit down in the chairs by the window. Hinata controls the part of him that wants to sigh, but it’s quickly taken over for a feeling of elation when Hanamaki smiles at him, pushing a menu his way.

“This is the menu,” he says as he takes the cat off his shoulder. “And this, I’ve been told, is Toto.”

Hinata reaches forwards, the cat already making the leap into his lap. “Isn’t Toto the dog from the Wizard of Oz?” he asks.

Hanamaki shrugs as the cat curls up in his lap, happily compliant with rubbing their head on Hinata’s arm in need for pets. With a coo, Hinata scratches him behind the ears, forgetting the menu entirely as the cat begins to purr. He remains ignorant to Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s dazed stares, their eyes softened as they watch Hinata interact with the cat.

“Hey,” Matsukawa says. “You wanna split a piece of cake? Raspberry and chocolate.”

Hinata turns his attention away from the cat to look up at him, excited at the prospect of food. His stomach rumbles, a surefire sign of how hungry he really is as he nods, taking another look at the menu.

“The chai latte sounds nice,” he muses. “Man, this reminds me of when I worked in a cafe.”

Hanamaki grins, leaning back into his chair. “I can totally picture you with a little apron, making coffee and being all bubbly with the customers,” he says.

Matsukawa quirks his lips. “Cute,” he says. “I’ll go buy the stuff, I’ll be right back.”

Hinata doesn’t have any more time to argue over splitting the bill as Matsukawa leaves, leaving him with the cat and Hanamaki. With a huff, he flops back into the chair, giggling as Toto the cat begins to knead his stomach with their little paws.

“The cat loves you,” Hanamaki says, just as another hops down from a nearby structure and makes its way over to Hinata. “Oh my god, look at them all.”

Hinata giggles, reaching down to pet the new cat— an orange tabby, a bit on the chunky side. He looks up at Hanamaki with a smile shrugging. “I guess they just like me?” he says, still confused as to why the cats have gravitated towards him.

That becomes the least of his concerns when he takes a closer look at Hanamaki’s expression— half lidded eyes softened and smile almost _fond_ as he watches Hinata, chin resting in his hand. Hinata can’t help but blush, averting his eyes to focus back on the chunky cat, who has now settled down right by Hinata’s feet.

“Wait,” Hanamaki says, breaking the silence. Hinata looks up as Hanamaki reaches out, grabbing his hand. “You painted your nails,” he states with curious eyes and a cock of his head.

Hinata laughs lightly at Hanamaki’s interest. “Yeah, at the model… sleepover? That I was at last night. Alisa did it for me— she was doing everyone’s! Do you think blue suits me?”

Hanamaki hums, still holding Hinata’s hand. “I think it does, yeah,” he tells him. He inspects them a little closer, turning Hinata’s hand over to look at his palm where there’s a grey smudge. “Oh, you have oil here,” he comments.

Hinata furrows his brow. “I don’t know why,” he says, freezing once he realizes Hanamaki’s begun to wipe it off with a napkin.

“You rode the bike here, yeah?” Hanamaki asks. Hinata nods. “That’d be it. I get oil on my hands when riding Matsukawa’s bike, too. Do you like riding it? The bike, I mean.”

Hinata nods excitedly, absentmindedly petting the cat. “Yeah! It goes so fast, all _woosh!_ and _nyoom!_ I was scared at first, but now I’m not,” he tells him. “What about you? You must go on rides all the time.”

Hanamaki raises his brows, his smile turning into a smirk. “Oh yeah, of course,” he says. “Matsukawa’s toys are always fun to ride, if you know what I mean,” he finishes with a wink.

Hinata is suddenly very aware of what Hanamaki is talking about, face heating up with a mental image he does _not_ need to see at this given moment. Before he can say anything, Matsukawa returns with a plate and three mugs balanced haphazardly in his hands. With a little less caution than Hinata would like, he places the items onto the table, slipping into the seat across from Hanamaki and Hinata.

“I heard my name,” Matsukawa says, handing Hinata his drink. Their fingertips brush, and Hinata has to force himself not to choke on his spit.

“Oh, we were just talking about—”

“ _Nothing_!” Hinata exclaims, taking a swig of his drink. He’s lucky it’s iced, otherwise he’s sure he would've burnt his tongue in his haste. Matsukawa silently looks between Hanamaki and Hinata for a few moments before shrugging.

A third cat, this one with folded ears and a pink nose, jumps onto the table where their things are. She observes them for a few seconds before making the jump to the empty spot on the loveseat beside Hinata, curling up and taking a nap beside him.

“Hey,” Matsukawa says, stabbing a piece of the cake off with his fork. “Try this.”

They both lean in, Matsukawa extending the fork so that Hinata can bite it off. Neither notice the background noise of someone's camera flashing, too caught up in each other as Hinata sits back, swallowing the sugary treat.

“Mm,” he hums, licking the icing off his lips. “It’s really good.”

Matsukawa sits back down as well, taking a chunk for himself with the same fork. “I trust you,” he tells him before popping the cake into his mouth. He swallows, moving to put the fork down only for Hanamaki to snatch it from his hand.

“Hey, don’t hog it all,” he teases, scooping himself off a piece. “At least give me a bite.”

“Be my guest,” Matsukawa teases back. Hanamaki eats the piece, humming at the taste.

“Man, is this good,” Hanamaki says. He looks to Hinata, smiling. “Want another bite?” he offers, already taking another chunk off and extending the fork to him.

Hinata opens his mouth wide, biting down around the fork and closing his eyes, happy with the taste. It’s then that he realizes _holy shit_ _they’ve all been sharing the same fork,_ and _is this an indirect kiss? Did they all indirectly kiss?_ His cheeks flush pink, and Hinata can feel the blush travel across to his ears and down his neck as he reaches to take another sip from his drink in an attempt to cool down.

“Oh?” Hanamaki says with a grin. “What’s got you so flustered all of a sudden?”

Hinata sputters, flicking his eyes away as he nervously goes back to petting Toto. Before long, the cat hops out of his lap, scared away by the folded eared cat who takes their place. Hinata isn’t even sure he notices, desperately looking for something to avert his attention to.

Hanamaki snorts, leaning over to throw an arm around Hinata’s shoulder and dragging him closer to his side. “Don’t worry, I’m just teasing,” he says, turning so that he can boop Hinata’s flushed nose. Hinata stammers even more, at loss for words as Matsukawa pointedly stares at them.

“Oi, if I’m sharing the cake, you’re sharing him, too,” Matsukawa says, standing up to move around to the other side to plop down next to Hinata, instantly slinking an arm around his waist. Hanamaki backs off enough so that he can take another bite of cake in exchange for Hinata’s undivided attention.

Meanwhile, Hinata tries not to internally combust at all of the physical contact and Matsukawa’s clinginess. The cat stays put in his lap, but she seems annoyed at being jostled when Matsukawa begins lazily drawing circles through Hinata’s shirt, making him jump in shock. Hinata isn’t sure he’s ever been more flustered, the casual domesticity of both boys holding him tight becoming too much for his ever pounding heart.

“So,” Hanamaki says, too calm for how intensely Hinata is feeling. “I finished the choreography for _Dragon Boy_ yesterday. Got it approved and everything.”

“I-is that the dance you were practicing?” Hinata asks, gaining back some of his ability to speak.

“Yeah, the one before I showed you the _Drunk In Love_ workshop choreo,” Hanamaki tells him.

Matsukawa leans into Hinata’s ear. “I die whenever he dances that routine for me,” Matsukawa whispers, voice sending shivers down Hinata’s spine. A strangled noise dies in the back of his throat as he squeezes his eyes shut and a blush runs up his neck to his cheeks, slightly leaning away from Matsukawa in a sort of automatic defense to keep his heart from bursting out of his chest. Half of his reaction is from the memory of Hanamaki’s obscene dance moves, the other half because of Matsukawa’s husky voice flowing through his eardrums. Both Hanamaki and Matsukawa seem slightly taken aback by the noise Hinata makes. They look towards each other before grinning devilishly, and _oh_ , Hinata realizes he is _doomed_. The two rest their heads on either of his shoulders, leaning in so that their lips just about graze against Hinata’s ears.

“Say, did you like the dance I did for you? That last part was _just_ for you, by the way,” Hanamaki murmurs teasingly into Hinata’s ear. Hinata practically squeaks in response, caught like a mouse between two hungry cats.

Matsukawa hums on his other side. “You’re so adorable, I can’t believe it,” he says, lips almost touching Hinata’s earlobe. “I wonder if I could make you squirm—”

“Okay!” Hinata shouts, voice high and crackly as he jolts upright. The folded eared cat looks exasperated at him, kneading his thighs in retaliation. “I am going to have a sip of my drink, thank you very much. C-can you hand it to me?”

“Gladly,” Matsukawa mumbles, voice oh so low in Hinata’s ear before he pulls away, reaching to grab Hinata’s drink and handing it to him. “Here you go.”

Hinata stammers something that should be a _thank you_ , quickly draining the rest of his drink in thirst. His head is slightly spinning, and he _really_ wants to open a window or something because everything feels hot and his hands are too clammy, but he can’t help but feel almost satisfied with the attention both Hanamaki and Matsukawa have bestowed upon him. With their arms still wrapped around him, they’re pulled as close as they can be, shoulders connected and hands placed precariously on either Hinata’s hip or waist.

Once they’ve finished teasing him, and Hinata’s cooled down from having two of the people he’s currently in love with whisper in his ears, the rest of the date is a little less intense. The two back off enough to give Hinata a chance to breathe and pet a few of the cats that have surrounded him. The fat tabby cat doesn’t budge from his resting spot by Hinata’s feet, too lazy to try and cuddle him like the folded eared cat or the two adults that refuse to let go of Hinata throughout their brunch.

It’s nearing half past noon when Hinata figures he needs to go, out of it being his turn to do groceries and knowing he has a few online tests to take to catch up on in his classes. Despite Matsukawa’s iron grip and Hanamaki’s pleading, he manages to untangle himself from their limbs, standing up with a smile knowing that all in all, it had been an _amazing_ date, even if he was just a third wheel.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride back to your place?” Matsukawa asks again.

Hinata shakes his head. “I have to pick up groceries. Kenma will have my head if I forget again, and that's not the kind of errand you can achieve on a motorbike.”

“Then at least take my jacket,” Matsukawa says, shedding off his blue leather coat and placing it over Hinata’s shoulders. “It’s cold out today.”

“And it suits you,” Hanamaki chimes in.

Hinata nods, taking a deep breath, inhaling the scent of leather and Matsukawa’s cologne. The jacket is heavy and expensive with embroidered details and sleeves that drown Hinata, being much too big for someone his size. He revels in the garment, smiling before stepping forwards to pull them both into a quick hug.

“Thank you for this,” he tells them as he steps back, his heart feeling lighter than before. “I really enjoyed it.”

“Anytime,” Hanamaki says. “Text us when you get back!”

“Okay!” Hinata says, moving towards the door. “I’ll text you!”

“See you, babe!” Matsukawa calls, watching his cheeks flush one last time before stumbling out the door.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa watch him hail a taxi from inside the cafe, not sitting back down until he climbs in and drives down the street. The cats, now realizing that Hinata isn’t coming back, quickly disperse, leaving Hanamaki a spot on the loveseat beside Matsukawa to sit down. Resting his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder, he sighs heavily.

“I really like him,” Hanamaki says. “Like, _really_ like him.”

“That’s gay,” Matsukawa deadpans, earning him a playful shove from Hanamaki. “But really, ‘Hiro, why didn’t you kiss him when you had the chance?”

Hanamaki shrugs. “Same reason Oikawa didn’t, I guess. Want it to be the right moment, or whatever,” he says. “Like you’re one to talk, though. When are you going to do anything?”

Matsukawa smiles wistfully. “I’m biding my time,” he tells him. “I would’ve thought Hinata would do _something_ by now, what with four different people all flirting with him.”

Hanamaki hums. “I just… can’t get over how precious he is. Did you see all of the cats? They _knew_ he was like, their leader, and just gravitated towards him. And his _smiles_ , Issei—”

“I know,” Matsukawa sighs. “I was surprised at his thing for whispering though.  _That_ was cute.”

“Of course you’d find that cute,” Hanamaki teases with a rolls of his eyes, sitting up. “I can’t blame him when he’s up against a voice like yours, though.”

Matsukawa laughs. “You aren’t too bad yourself.”

“Oh shut it, you know you love me,” Hanamaki teases, leaning forwards to plant a kiss on Matsukawa’s lips. It doesn’t last long, but he tastes like raspberry and sugar sweets, something that makes Hanamaki smile when he realizes Hinata would taste the same way.

“Issei,” he says, voice growing softer. “I’m fucked.”

“Aren’t we all?” Matsukawa replies, resting his head atop of Hanamaki’s.

Hanamaki smiles to himself. He guesses he has a point, but for now he wallows in the thought of cuddling with an extra body, imagines Hinata curled up between him and Matsukawa when they’re lying in bed, basking in the afternoon sunlight after sleeping in too late. He wonders, wonders if Hinata would mind Matsukawa’s touchiness, wonders if Hinata would care for PDA, wonders if he’d give himself an aneurysm from imagining Hinata in Matsukawa’s jacket, and just that.

 _Yeah,_ he thinks to himself. _I’m fucked._ He looks up to Matsukawa, whose eyes are glazed over in the familiar trademark of him being lost in thought. _But at least he is too._

—

 **_matsuhana0011_** ** _:_  **check out this picture i snapped at work today!!!!! i cant believe it, mastukawa and hanamaki were there with hinata :o:

 _ [view_ _image]_

 

_179 notes_

 

 ** _seijpeg_** _replied_ : oh my god are they feeding him???????????? are they wrapping their arms around him

 **_matsuhana011_ ** _replied:_ @seijpeg yeah and you would not BELIEVE it… they kept leaning in and touching him its amazing

 **_seijpeg_ ** _replied:_ @matsuhana0011 imagine being between those two boys… hinata is living the DREAM

 

—

 

 ** _modelchicjapan :_** Hinata Shouyou leaving kitty cafe in Tokyo, wearing a Gucci blue leather jacket (spring collection) and lace Alexander Mcqueen boots.

_[_ _view image]_

_879856 notes_

 

 **_istaissei_ ** _replied:_ holy FUCK thats matsukawas jacket that is totally matsuakwas jacket hfdsjhsdfhk

 **_hinafan_ ** _replied:_ ohmygod hes so adorable its so big on him ? ??

 **_17c-mmmmaki_** _replied:_ not to be that person but….. matsuhina? matsuhanahina? ??? are they all dating now????

 **_yumeissei_** _replied:_ @17c-mmmmaki holy shit dude i never thought of that….. @matsuhana011 didnt you see them today????????

 ** _matsuhana011_** _replied:_ @17c-mmmmaki @yumeissei YEAH THEY WERE FEEDING EACH OTHER AND EVERYTHING ohmygod theyre totally dating

 **_oinkoiks_** _replied:_ the rumour come out……... does hinata shouyou is gay for matsuhana?

 

—

 

Location shoots are always interesting— especially when they take place outside. Hinata understands the appeal of using nature to showcase different outfits, but as he struggles to balance on the uneven rocky ground of Mt. Fuji in the odd heeled boots, he can’t help but curse whoever came up with the idea of maxi skirts and nature inspired fashion.

“Keep it up!” shouts one of the photographers. “You’re doing lovely, Hinata, spin again.”

Hinata smiles, following the photographer’s direction. Despite it all, he can’t deny that he’s having fun, wind sending the flowing fabric cascading behind him, boyish features and freckles on display. The collection is bohemian in style, warm tones and big charmed necklaces, muted gold, green, and amber tones scattered throughout. With his hair standing on end from the chill in the air, Hinata thankful when the shoot comes to a close, shivering slightly as he changes into casual clothes, taking immense comfort in the pair of oversized sweatpants he packed.

(He has to roll them three times so that they fit. He wonders if he accidentally took one of the boys’ by accident.)

It’s as he’s leaving the tiny excuse for a dressing room that he spots him— Iwaizumi Hajime, on time as always, talking to a few of the interns as he waits. Hinata forces his heart back down his throat when he sees him smile, rubbing the back of his neck before looking over his way with a warm smile.

“There you are,” he says, moving away from the small group to walk towards him. “I saw the last half hour of the shoot. You did really well— like you were in your element.”

Hinata’s face reddens. He blames it on the cold.

“Thank you,” he says, trying to hide how happy he sounds from the compliment.

Iwaizumi smiles, bumping shoulders with him as they walk towards the small parking lot where the car is. Hinata debates grabbing his hand— would it be too much? Would it be weird? He decides against it in the same moment Iwaizumi completes the motion, entwining their fingers together as if he heard Hinata’s internal plea. Warm, calloused fingers and palms brushing  against the smooth skin of his own. It’s only slightly mind numbing, and fades just as quick as it spurs on when he climbs into the car.

Once the motor starts, radio lulling as Iwaizumi pulls away back down to the city, Hinata’s tiredness catches up to him. It starts slow— little bobs of his head, eyes drooping lower than he would like to admit— before his head leans slack against the window, too sleepy to hold it up.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says, reaching across the middle to placing his hand on Hinata’s. “You look exhausted. If you want, we can just go back to my place. I have an unopened toothbrush you can use as your own— leave it there.”

Iwaizumi’s concern gives Hinata butterflies, gives him palpations, gives him a sense of comfort like a blanket being wrapped around his shoulders. “Mm,” he hums. “Are you sure that’s okay?”

Iwaizumi smiles, flicking his eyes back to the road. “Yeah, of course it is.”

“Then yes,” Hinata affirms. “Let’s go.”

—

The seij-OH apartment is, in all honestly, the place Hinata spends the most time at besides his own flat. It’s bigger, nicer, though not as lavish as Kuroo’s, with exposed brick and comfortable furnishing. Hinata likes the smell of it— always with a hint of something warm and indistinguishable. For now, Hinata walks in and toes off his shoes, noting how quiet it is inside.

“Oikawa’s in a meeting. Thing one and thing two are in an interview,” Iwaizumi explains. “Want anything? Food, drink?”

Hinata yawns, shaking his head. He feels like he’s made a little more out of jelly and a little less out of bone, limbs heavy and weighed down with sleep. Iwaizumi chuckles as he rubs his eyes, walking into the kitchen to busy himself with the kettle.

“You’re sure tired,” he comments. “Must be all the fresh air.”

Hinata looks up at Iwaizumi, taking in how the flannel rests loose on his shoulders, how his jeans hug snug on his thighs. He’s glowing a lot today, skin rose under the brown hues. It takes a moment for Hinata to realize he’s staring before he breaks out into a flush, head to toe.

“Sorry,” he squeaks. “Zoned out.”

Iwaizumi finishes with the kettle, turning to face him entirely. “You can go ahead and sleep if you want— just take my bed, I don’t mind.”

Hinata shakes his head. “No, I don’t want you to think—” he starts, interrupted by a yawn. Iwaizumi looks at him doubtfully, as if to ask him if he _really_ thinks that before Hinata nods and finally says yes.

“Can I wait for the tea first?” Hinata asks, eyeing the kettle.

“Of course,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Go ahead and lay down, I’ll be there in a moment.”

Hinata smiles, not protesting any further. He pads down the hallway to Iwaizumi’s room, pushing open the door and stepping in.

His room is organized in the temporary way— dressers closed, but likely stuffed full, bed made but pillows haphazardly thrown on. Despite being overcast, the sky is bright, leaving the room blue with natural lighting that shines through Iwaizumi’s open windows. With another heavy yawn, Hinata draws the curtains shut, shrouding the room in orange tinted darkness before climbing into Iwaizumi’s bed.

Everything smells like fall— the apple flavoured smell to the sheets, the earthy aroma from the little pot of flowers sitting on his dresser. It’s comforting, like two arms wrapping around Hinata and holding him tight. Snuggling into his sweater, Hinata lets his eyes flutter shut, drifting off into sleep.

By the time Iwaizumi arrives with a mug of tea in both hands, Hinata has long since fallen unconscious, passed out and sprawled across his bed. Iwaizumi freezes after opening the door, slowly shutting it again as not to have it creak. Setting the mugs on his dresser, he makes his way towards the sleeping Hinata, not sure if he should wake him to give him his drink.

Hinata’s hair fans out across the pillow, ginger strands frazzled and frizzy only after a few minutes. His lips, red and chapped, hang open, breaths steady and slow, lifting his chest up and down with each inhale and exhale. Iwaizumi stares, enraptured, his hands moving on their own as he brushes his fingers across Hinata’s forehead, pushing the hair from his closed eyes, watching how little he reacts to the touch. He blinks, coming back to his senses and standing back up straight, a flush travelling to his cheeks involuntarily.

In the back of his head, he knows it’s weird to do this, to watch Hinata without him knowing. He pushes the sensible part of his mind to the back of his head momentarily, flicking his eyes down Hinata’s frame, to the mismatched socks bunched up on his feet, to the skin exposed at the hip from his hiked up sweater—

Iwaizumi suddenly becomes aware of exactly _where_ he’s staring, having to tear his gaze away and search for a distraction before his mind spirals into further thoughts. Taking a deep breath to steady himself and his speeding pulse, he reaches for his guitar, propped up against the wall. It’s old, with worn frets and strings that probably are due to be replaced, little scratches and dents littered across the body from use. _It’s well loved,_  Iwaizumi always says, and it couldn’t be more true. He sits on the opposite edge of the bed from Hinata, letting him rest as he softly adjusts the tuning before plucking out a simple rhythm.

He doesn’t often get the chance to play classical pieces on guitar— not because he doesn't play enough, but simply because he doesn’t write or sing classical music. It doesn’t change how Iwaizumi knows these few songs like the back of his hand, can ad lib the parts he forgets and create songs out of distant memories. Each tune flows into the next, Iwaizumi already anticipating where to go next, mindlessly chasing the trailing sounds of string vibrato. Moments turn to minutes, and soon he’s losing track of the time as he plays out every chord, plucks every string and creates music to fill the empty space.

It’s when the tune turns into something a little more familiar, a little more recent, that Iwaizumi lets himself sing under his breath, words floating past his lips like a memory only just passed, tune still fresh in his mind from writing it. It’s light, gentle like blankets out of the dryer, a lover’s face fresh from the shower. Iwaizumi’s voice is barely loud enough to be a whisper, lullaby lulling the entire room into a haze, guitar like candlelight and a thought that can’t quite be placed.

Soon after, Hinata stirs beside him, shifting in his sleep before sitting up entirely, blinking hard as his eyes refocus on the world around him. Iwaizumi stops playing, dropping his hand from the fret.

“Oh, sorry,” he says, watching as Hinata focuses on him. “Did I wake you up?”

Hinata scrunches his nose, rolling out his shoulders with a shake of his head. "No, it's fine," he says. "What was that song you were singing? I don't think I've heard it before."

“You haven’t, it’s something I’ve been working on,” he tells him. “A secret project, of sorts.”

Hinata’s eyes light up at that, mouth swelling into a smile. “Well,” he says, voice lilted with excitement. “I’m glad I got to hear it!”

Iwaizumi chuckles, flicking his eyes down to the bed and away from the brightness that is Hinata Shouyou.  “And I’m glad you liked hearing it— hearing me play.”

“I love when you play,” Hinata says, face heating up the moment the words leave his mouth. “I-I mean, it looks so cool, I wish I knew how.”

Iwaizumi blinks, an idea popping into his head. He looks down at the guitar in his lap, then back over to Hinata. “C’mere, I’ll teach you then.”

“W-what?!” Hinata exclaims, taken aback. “I don’t think—”

“Shh, don’t worry.” Iwaizumi stands up, carrying the guitar towards the side of the bed Hinata sits on. He places it on Hinata’s lap and moves to beside him so that their shoulders press together, slowly positioning Hinata’s stiff limbs around the guitar.

Hinata freezes, completely in denial that this could be happening, that Iwaizumi’s arms are around him. Iwaizumi smells so strongly, feels so warm with their bodies pressed so close together. It’s suddenly a thousand degrees hotter, and Hinata’s sure that his blush has sprawled down his neck and shoulders, that his entire body is now pink and warm to the touch.

“It’s really not that hard,” Iwaizumi tells him once he’s place his hands where they should go. “There’s a lot of technical stuff, but you probably don’t need to know any of it. All that’s important is that these—” He taps the neck of the guitar. “—are the frets, and when you press down on the strings on one of them, you get a sound.”

“R-right,” Hinata says. He retains none of what Iwaizumi had just said, too focused on how his hand, rough, calloused, is holding tightly onto his own.

“Here, let me show you a chord,” he says, entwining their fingers. “Put your middle finger _here_ and this one underneath it— good, see? And now, press this down real hard and—” Iwaizumi grabs his other hand, running the padded part of his thumb across the strings. “Voila, you just played an A minor chord.”

Hinata breathes out a laugh, turning to look up at Iwaizumi. He instantly regrets it— their noses almost brush together, and their foreheads bump as if they’re doing something much more intimate than this. Hinata quickly looks away, focusing back down at his own fingers, experimentally strumming without Iwaizumi’s help. It sounds a little more like buzzing strings than  music, but the tone is there, and Iwaizumi seems proud enough when Hinata is able to create the sound.

“Good, you’re doing great,” he says, voice low next to Hinata’s ear.

Hinata’s breath hitches, his fingers becoming rigid over the strings. Iwaizumi’s cheek is almost flush against his head, as if he were resting his chin there, lips actually touching his ear. He gulps, saliva acid as it travels down his throat, burning with the _wanting_ that settles inside of his chest. It’s incredibly intimate, the careful teachings of learning an instrument, of learning _Iwaizumi_ , how he would be such a good teacher if not for Hinata’s distracted nature.

“Now that you know this, I can show you how to pluck a string, yeah?” Iwaizumi says, pulling away slightly. Hinata isn’t sure if he’s relieved or disappointed now that his lips aren't against his ears, but he’s able to think clearly enough to nod, turning towards Iwaizumi again, heart seizing again, watching him smile.

“So, if you move this finger up one string, you get C,” Iwaizumi says, demonstrating by moving Hinata’s finger for him. “You don’t really _pluck_ strings as much as you push down on them. Try using your thumb for the top one.”

Hinata pushes down on the string, somehow making it snap against the fret and buzz. He purses his lips, trying again, gentler this time, and is rewarded with a warmer sound.

“See, you’re doing it,” Iwaizumi praises. Hinata’s blush returns, Iwaizumi’s mouth now close to his jaw, breath fanning hot onto his neck. His mind wanders to the idea of his lips, dragging kisses down the column of his throat. Hinata rips himself from the daydream, plucking the string again, rewarded with a hum of approval.

“Now, it’s almost like a pattern. Each of your fingers gets it’s own string— your thumb getting the lowest one you just played, and these three playing these three,” he explains.

“Okay,” Hinata whispers, syllables sounding a bit choked as he forced them out. He moves to pluck each string Iwaizumi showed him. It’s shaky, almost as shaky as every breath Hinata takes, quivering with the constant distraction of Iwaizumi Hajime, still very much holding him.

“Now, when you get to the last string, go back up,” Iwaizumi instructs. Hinata bites his lip, using every ounce of concentration to focus on the task at hand, repeating the little pattern over and over— _down down down down, up up up, down down down down, up up up._ He slips up once or twice, the strings still sounding too muted when he plays. Somehow, Iwaizumi doesn’t mind, doesn’t wince or whine, encourages Hinata to continue even when he messes up.

“Mm,” he hums. “You remember that A minor chord?”

Hinata tries really hard not to choke on his spit. He fails, Iwaizumi’s voice too much for him to handle when it’s this quiet, this close. “Y-yeah,” he stammers.

“Good, now the next time you start over the pattern, go back to it.”

Hinata makes the mistake of looking back up towards Iwaizumi before following through, catches sight of half lidded eyes looking down at him with some kind of intimate fondness, hazel irises shining through eyelashes that catch what little light manages to creep through the curtains. Hinata licks his lips, flicking his eyes back to the guitar, slowly doing what Iwaizumi had suggested and switching to the other chord after he finished the pattern. It’s hard for his plucking hand to keep up, but he manages, creating some kind of base of a song that sounds like a lullaby, one part because of its familiarity, two parts because of the steady thump of Iwaizumi’s heartbeat, somehow audible in their proximity.

“Is th-that right?” he asks, looking back up at Iwaizumi.

“You’re— it’s great,” he says, voice husky. “Keep going.”

Hinata nods, continuing to play, every movement a little less hesitant than the last but no less shaky. He regains the courage and composure to speak, not tearing his eyes away from the strings in fear of messing up again.

“What song is this?” he asks. “I feel like I know it from somewhere.”

“ _Hallelujah_ ,” Iwaizumi hums. He pauses for a moment, the only sound between them being their breaths and the vibrations of the strings before he manages to speak again. “Would you like to play together?”

“Huh?” Hinata asks, stopping completely and cocking his head, looking to Iwaizumi with confusion.

Iwaizumi moves his arms from where they were wrapped around him, sitting back slightly. “Here, sit on my thigh. That way I can play the strings while you play the chords,” he tells him.

Hinata’s mind short circuits, repeating _in his lap, sitting on those strong, strong thighs,_ his body nodding before he’s even aware of it. Carefully, as if handling a butterfly and not a boy, Iwaizumi lifts Hinata up onto him, placing him onto his lap. Hinata lets out a small _oof_ in surprise, blinking away the shock as a hand moves to rest around his waist, the other taking it’s place around the body of the guitar and in front of the strings.

“I might go a little faster,” Iwaizumi warns him. “Don’t worry, I’ll slow down if you need me to.”

Hinata wonders why this feels so intimate, like he’s pulling back the skin and revealing himself for Iwaizumi to see. Slowly, Iwaizumi begins to play, Hinata barely remembering to switch chords, too enraptured with the ease in which he does so, the all encompassing warmth of his body all around him, back pressed up against Iwaizumi’s chest. The pace starts careful, languid, before Iwaizumi picks up the tempo to what it originally is, and out of nowhere, sings.

_“I heard there was a secret chord,_

_That David played and it pleased the lord,_

_But you don’t really care for music, do you?”_

Hinata’s breath catches, Iwaizumi’s singing voice heavenly, like a dream that swirls around Hinata’s senses, pulls him further into his embrace despite there being no way for them to get any closer.

_“It goes like this, the fourth the fifth,_

_The minor fall, the major lift,_

_The baffled king composing Hallelujah.”_

Hinata misses a chord change, too caught up in the rise and fall of Iwaizumi’s voice, the push and pull of every drawn out _hallelujah_ that leaves his lips. It’s ironic, that Hinata finds himself falling deeper for him in a song that’s about leaving something behind, that he’s dreaming about kissing him as Iwaizumi sings out _hallelujah_.

_“Your faith was strong but you needed proof,_

_You saw him bathing on the roof,_

_His beauty, and the moonlight overthrew you.”_

Hinata imagines if Iwaizumi would taste holy against his tongue, like angel feathers and enlightenment, imagines that his hands would be the closest thing to a higher being if they ever cradled his jaw. _Is it too much,_ he wonders, _to want to find the world in a person? Am I overreacting? Am I too dramatic?_ He scrambles to make the chord change again as Iwaizumi continues, voice nearing raspy as he continues the verse.

_“He tied you to a kitchen chair,_

_He broke your throne and cut your hair,_

_And from your lips he drew the Hallelujah.”_

Hinata looks back at Iwaizumi as his fingers slow, the tempo steadying and fading out, little _hallelujahs_ still leaving Iwaizumi’s lips as he conducts the breathes from Hinata, steals every exhale as they draw closer and closer. Iwaizumi finishes the song with a soft strum, arm moving from the guitar’s body to Hinata’s jaw, running a calloused thumb over Hinata’s lips. He’s aware that they’re chapped, bitten, probably gross and red, but Hinata can’t care when their foreheads are connected, when his body is going slack in Iwaizumi’s arms, when their noses are brushing against each other, and when their lips _finally_ —

Suddenly, the guitar slips from Hinata’s arm, falling off of his lap onto the ground with a muted hum. Hinata yelps, instantly apologizing as he rips out of Iwaizumi’s embrace, darting down to swipe it up off of the ground, afraid that he had somehow managed to break one of Iwaizumi’s prized possessions.

“Don’t worry,” Iwaizumi chokes out. “It falls all the time.”

“Oh,” Hinata says, blinking as he pops back up. “Sorry.”

There’s a tense moment before Iwaizumi cracks a smile, sighing as he runs a hand through Hinata’s hair. “You did really well, you know. You probably didn’t even need me to help.”

Hinata’s heart palpitates, still running on the adrenaline of nearly being kissed. “I-I wanted it— for you to help me.”

Iwaizumi’s breath shudders, in disbelief that this could really be happening. They stare at each other for a few more moments before he takes the guitar from Hinata’s hands, shutting out his thoughts of _do it_ in lieu of the ruined moment as he leans the guitar up against the wall, fetching Hinata’s tea, now at the right temperature to drink. He hands it to Hinata, watching how his eyes light up at the fact that he had remembered to make him some. He can’t help but decide to keep this moment a secret shared just between them.

 _Just between us,_ Iwaizumi thinks, watching Hinata shut his eyes and drink his tea. _Just between us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //fans self  
> hoo boy. ohman my god. these tension scenes are really getting to me. also!! since i got another ask about it, i do want to say that it is totally 100% okay to draw us fanart! we love literally every response we get, thank you guys so much for being so awesome and sticking with us so far.
> 
> if you want to hit either me (@mooksmookin) or kj (@spacegaykj) on tumblr to scream at us about idol au or matsuhanaiwaoihina or really anything, feel free to! see you guys in the next (and final) chapter!


	8. tie your heart to mine (only you and i)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REMINDER TO SUBSCRIBE TO THE SERIES FOR MORE IDOL AU STORIES WITH THESE 5 GAYS  
> im not crying youre crying
> 
> hey guys its mooks!!! can you believe it?? its the last chapter of part one. sorry we couldnt get this out to you guys sooner, but with final exams and other things stuff's been pretty hectic. SO i hope you guys enjoy this super long final chapter.  
> ———  
> HEY GUYS ITS KJ SORRY IVE BEEN TRYING TO PASS SCHOOL  
> but here it is  
> the gays  
> take a fucking sip babes

Hinata likes his days off. They’re usually spent doing online schooling— despite everything, he’d like to still be able to graduate— going for a jog, and flicking aimlessly through social media until he physically _has_ to get up before dying of mind numbing boredom. Today, he wakes up early with the spring sun, changing into his athletic wear (the expensive kind he now can afford) and makes his way into the kitchen of his and Kenma’s apartment, ready to get something to eat.

Surprisingly, Kenma has beaten him there, drinking a boxed orange juice with his hair braided messily. Hinata watches as he finishes checking a large bag, zipping it up once he’s satisfied, nodding in acknowledgement to Hinata’s entrance.

“Did you go to sleep?” Hinata asks. It’s not typical for Kenma to be up this early unless he hasn’t yet gone to bed.

Kenma throws the bag over his shoulder, shaking his head. “No, I have a job today— directing cinematography. I thought I let you know.”

Hinata looks at him, bewildered. “I didn’t think it’d be this early. What’s it for?” he asks, leaning his elbows onto the counter, excitement in his eyes.

Kenma’s eyes flick to meet his. “A music video.”

“Gwah? Really?!” Hinata exclaims, jolting up. “For who?”

Kenma pauses for a single moment, the corners of his mouth turning upwards ever so slightly. “Oh, you know them,” he says, nonchalantly. “It’s your boys.”

The realization of how big the job is hits him before anything else. “Oh my god, Kenma!” Hinata shouts. “seij-OH is the biggest band in the country, oh my god!” He freezes, letting Kenma’s words sink in entirely, _your boys_ repeating on loop in his head. Involuntarily, he feels a blush creep up the back of his neck, heating his cheeks to a deep pink as Kenma heads towards the door.

“See you after,” he says, leaving Hinata to simmer in his own embarrassment and mixed glee, whispering _my boys_ to himself as if he can’t even believe it.

—

Music videos are simultaneously the most stressful and rewarding parts of making music. It’s not a throwaway kind of thing, either. Ever since they started making music, everyone in the band was adamant about having elaborate concepts and stories told in every video. Shoots can span a week or a single day depending on the location, and no one calls it quits until every last scene is filmed thrice, leaving everyone— band, crew, and directors alike— absolutely exhausted and ready for a nap.

Oikawa couldn’t be more excited.

Today is one of those one-day-shoots, in an enormous art gallery that HQ was able to book out. Marble floors, sleek walls, contemporary and classic art alike all throughout the building. Inside, high ceilings leave echoes to shimmer and cry, every click of their feet like heels on obsidian, every whisper a thousand in the recoil. Statues stand tall, in agony and bliss, with wings and crumpled legs, watching them as they pass. Oikawa can’t help but grin, already looking forward to the finished product.

An album about desire, about watching, about looking through the windows of a house that isn’t yours, about choking down greed and searching for the grand jewel. The song is almost haunting— heavy piano and deep, low bass synths, chimes ringing alongside strong vocals and paced beats. There’s an electric guitar part and a violin piece, creating a symphonic sound to a song that still retains a familiar vibe.

 _Dragon Boy._ Hanamaki came up with the phrase as a joke, but it soon spiraled into a project no one was willing to let go to waste.

The makeshift dressing room in one of the washrooms is crowded with people, popping in to trade notes and take _behind the scenes_ videos for fans to see. Oikawa is very nearly forced into a chair to get his makeup down, too antsy to sit down just yet.

“Could you make my job a little easier for once?” Kunimi asks him. He seems exasperated, as per usual. Oikawa’s the last to get his makeup done, the other’s having already moved onto hair.

“Nope!” Oikawa says, popping the _p_ as he closes his eyes and lets Kunimi pat down his face with foundation. Kunimi sighs, not bothering to retaliate.

“Oi,” Matsukawa calls, leaning back into Kindaichi, not caring for the hot styling tools resting by his head. “You’ll look hideous if you don’t sit still.”

Oikawa hums. “I’m a natural beauty.”

“No one will like you.”

“My best friends —my partners in crime, my musical affiliates— will!”

“No we won’t,” Hanamaki chimes in.

“Fine,” Oikawa huffs, very nearly getting stabbed in the eye with a brush. “Shou-chan will love me even if my makeup is wrong.”

Everyone collectively groans— all except Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki, who release soft sighs. Kunimi manages to finish Oikawa’s makeup in record time, despite his resistance, letting Kindaichi curl and fix his hair as the other three wait for him. Yahaba isn’t here quite yet— getting the different outfits from someplace or another, or simply lost in the maze of the museum— buying them a little bit of time.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says as Oikawa is covered in a cloud of hairspray. “Isn’t that commercial you did with Hinata coming out soon?”

Oikawa coughs the spray he breathed in before blinking. “Yeah, in a few days I think,” he tells him. “I’m ready for the world to see us.” His voice is dreamy, a little too smiley to be ironic, making Iwaizumi roll his eyes as someone pushes through the bodies in the room.

“Alright, alright, everybody out,” Yahaba snaps. “You expect me to make Oikawa wear something decent with a thousand people giving me their opinions? Out, all of you.” He hangs a few of the many dry cleaning hangers up on the bathroom stall door, turning to the four of them with a look of exasperation.

“Take these,” he says, handing them four bags. “Your name is on whichever one belongs to you. Now strip before the director has my ass for holding you up.”

“Kinky,” Matsukawa muses, opening the bag up and practically sticking his head inside to get a look. Oikawa follows in suit, pulling off the bag to reveal the first look.

The pants are simple enough, black with an almost velvet texture to them. He sets them aside, looking over the shirt more closely, running his fingers along the sleeve. It’s a white silk fabric, with a ruffled front and cuffs. He notes the high neck, thumbing the thin red ribbon like tie around it. Quickly changing into the new outfit, he delicately buttons the shirt up his chest, not even bothering to try tying the ribbon correctly. As expected, Yahaba fixes it himself, tying it a little too tight to be comfortable before shoving a pair of dark red leather shoes into his hands.

The other’s outfits are all different, with the same kind of rich kid regal vibe to them. Hanamaki wears a button down, loose, with delicate peonies printed all over it. Even his shoes are flowered, deep grey base covered in white roses and petals. Beside him, Matsukawa sports a red velvet jacket and a black shirt with a deep v neckline, a thick, silk patterned choker tied around his neck. Iwaizumi wears a large bomber jacket, black and speckled with pink petals, white button up untucked.

“Okay, that’ll do,” Yahaba says. “If the bow comes undone, Oikawa, wait for us to fix it. Shimizu is waiting outside to take you to the first scene.”

True to his word, Kiyoko stands against the wall, her assistant publicist Yachi beside her, taking notes on a clipboard. They greet them with smiles, Yachi’s albeit nervous and she clicks her pen and tucks her clipboard away under her arm.

“Follow me,” she says. “We’ve got a new team for the directing and filming of this music, if you noticed by the report I sent you. You’ve read over the script, yes?”

“Of course,” Hanamaki chimes in. “I especially loved the part where Mattsun and I stand half naked in a room full of statues on a pedestal and erotically look into each other’s eyes.”

“I believe the term used was sensual,” Matsukawa corrects him, slinging an arm around his waist. “Since when did HQ let us do that on camera?”

Kiyoko shrugs. “Since it fit the plot of the music video,” she tells him. Oikawa raises his brows at the two, who look back at him smugly before making obscene gestures with their hands.

It’s as they make their way over to the small group of the essential crew that they spot bleached hair with the roots growing out, slumped over a storyboard, tracing over it while mouthing words to himself. Oikawa looks towards the others, standing up straight as the figure turns to face them.

“I don’t need to introduce you, I assume,” Kiyoko says.

“No,” Kenma replies, pushing a stray strand of hair from his face. “Hey.”

“H-hi!” Oikawa stammers, unsure why he’s so nervous. _It’s just Hinata’s best friend,_ he tells himself, _the one source of approval with a straight face and a aptitude for reading people clear, that’s all._

“Kenma,” Iwaizumi says, slightly surprised. “You’re directing?”

“Cinematography,” he tells them. “Interesting lyrics by the way.”

 _He knows, he knows, he knows_ —

“Yeah, we’re all pretty proud of it,” Matsukawa says. “Think Hinata will like it?”

Oikawa screams internally, but keeps his suave smile as Kenma sighs. “I think it’ll go over his head.” Oikawa decides to take that as some kind of approval, and drops his shoulders.

The first scenes they film are an intro of sorts, taking portrait shots next to huge paintings, still frames of them lying together on the marble floors. There’s a sequence where he needs to climb up the steps towards an artifact in a glass case, opening it to reveal a crown that takes a while, but until then, the scenes are slow moving and tedious to film. It isn’t until Oikawa finishes the last take of setting the crown atop his head, snapping open his eyes with a smirk that he _really_ starts to get excited.

“Okay, let’s get this started,” Hanamaki calls as Oikawa jogs back down the steps, meeting up with the other three who have paused to have their makeup fixed. He smiles, ready to make some kind of witty remark about being a king when Kenma practically materializes out of nowhere, shifting his weight onto his right leg as if he’s been there, waiting.

“Next scene, you sprint down the renaissance hall. Don’t trip, don’t look stiff,” he instructs before walking away to talk to the camera crew.

Oikawa feels his soul lift from his body, just a little bit. Looking back at the other slightly intimidated looks of his friends, he can tell they did to.

It’s when they finish all of the shots needed in their first outfits that they finally get their first break, albeit taken during their change. Oikawa manages to sneak a quick selfie before Yahaba practically forces him to get into his next outfit, staring disapprovingly at his phone.

“HQ will have your hide if you post that, you know,” Yahaba comments as Oikawa scrolls through his contacts to find the one labeled _shou-chan <3<3<3<3<3\. _

“Ah, but I’m not posting it!” Oikawa tells him, sending it to Hinata with a small caption of _out here looking cute on set, what do you think?_

Yahaba rolls his eyes, letting him be to change into his next outfit, which includes a floor length cape of all things. Kunimi and Kindaichi are in charge of carrying the end, making sure it doesn’t touch the floor any more than it needs to, which becomes an issue when he isn’t needed for the next few scenes. Instead, they head to a room of neon lights and mirrors, where Iwaizumi sits on an already messy bed without a shirt, lip syncing his parts of the songs in various different positions—  sitting down, standing up, leaning against the mirrored walls. Kenma keeps calling for redoes— it’s in fairness, due to the fact that they’re filming in a room of mirrors— until it’s been an hour and everything is finished. Oikawa grins, ready for his turn, only for it to be Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s turn.

The room of statues is eerie, to say the least. Face contorted with crude emotions of distorted pain in glee, hyper real naked bodies chiseled from stone. Hanamaki and Matsukawa toe off their shoes, leaving them in a light pink robe and a deep, flowering black robe respectively. They’re helped up onto an empty pedestal, much like the ones the statues stand on, Yahaba fixing the way their robes fall off of their shoulders before hopping off as Kenma gives them the go ahead.

Oikawa has to give them kudos for their ability to shut out an entire room and somehow becomes the centre of attention, eyes transfixed on each other, Hanamaki resting in Matsukawa’s arms. They have to stand quite close in order to keep their balance on the pedestal, and it seems neither mind, brushing hands across cheeks and touching foreheads together as the wide angle shots move closer and closer, peering over their backs and exposed shoulders.

“Don’t you think it’s odd that HQ even gave this the greenlight?” Oikawa wonders aloud, speaking to Iwaizumi beside him.

“Shimizu did fight for it, and we do have near total creative control now,” Iwaizumi responds, looking his way. “Why, what were you thinking?”

Oikawa tilts his head. “You know how much they hate scandals, reducing their artists to romance, that sort of thing. What made them change their mind?”

“Well, Matsukawa and Hanamaki aren’t a new thing. They know how everyone feels about them and how the public reacts, so it’s not a risk,” Iwaizumi says. “HQ hates unpredictability and risks when it comes to this stuff. Takes money out of their pockets.”

Oikawa hums, the answer making sense but not totally satisfying his curiosity. Unspoken, the two both know why he brought it up, both know that there’s a person they’ve written this song for that no one chooses to say aloud. On the pedestal, Matsukawa brushes his lips on Hanamaki’s jaw, and the director yells for a retake. The two snicker, stealing kisses as they readjust the angles. It’s normal, for the two at least, to be like this, and when they start filming again Matsukawa does the exact same thing, forcing their hand.

“I’d guess we’re dealing with an unknown variable then,” Oikawa muses. The scene is cut, and Oikawa slips back on his peppy smile, turning to Kindaichi and Kunimi who were holding his cape, motions them to follow him as he saunters over to where their next filming location is.

Really, Oikawa is in his element. The scene takes place in one of the most immaculate parts of the renaissance wing, a rather wicked looking throne set up, draped in black lace. Interns position him on the throne, Kenma nearby showing a camera man how to do a certain shot. His legs drape over the arm of the throne, elbow resting on the opposite one, smirk set on his face as they begin to play the music for him to sync to. The camera pans forwards, and Oikawa makes a deliberate move not to look at it, inside lifting his gaze to the upper side, chin tilted upwards before he finally looks over to the camera. As he shifts to cross his legs in the throne, he swears he sees Iwaizumi rolling his eyes at his antics.

But for all of his fooling around, Oikawa takes his part seriously, demands to see the shots in between takes and keeps character throughout the entire process. The whole time, he grounds himself to _this_ moment, knowing that if he let his imagination get carried away to having another person by his side, to seeing Hinata draped across a throne beside him, that his eyes would only glaze over and the shot would be ruined.

The last shots of the day are dance shots, and Oikawa begins to wonder, fatigue creeping in, if this was the best idea. Yahaba throws them their last outfits— button downs embroidered with beautiful flowers paired with rather stretchy pants— and reapplies all of their makeup himself, not wanting anything to be screwed up.

“Hey, Yahaba?” Hanamaki says after changing into his last outfit. “How movable are these pants?”

Yahaba sighs. “They’re dancer grade. What do you take me for, an idiot?”

Hanamaki simply grins, shrugging as he stretches idly. Without warning, he kicks off his shoes and slides his legs apart in his sock feet, falling down into a split to no one’s surprise. Matsukawa whistles, Hanamaki blowing him a kiss from the floor. He sits there for awhile, effectively taking up half of the room with his leg span before rolling out and standing back up.

“I guess they’ll work,” he says. “I mean, I _am_ doing a flip, so if they don’t rip from that then they won’t rip at all.”

Yahaba rubs his face. He looks utterly done with this day. “So there you go, they work,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And I’ll even let you two keep them for whatever weird… shit you do.”

Hanamaki releases a faux gasp and he leans into Matsukawa’s arms. “Yahaba, how did you know we take couples yoga together?” he asks, smile wide and sarcastic beyond relief. Oikawa snorts at his retort, watching as Yahaba rolls his eyes.

“Bull _shit_ ,” Yahaba says, raising his eyebrows.

Matsukawa sighs, wrapping his hands around Hanamaki’s waist. “You’re right, we’d really be using it to—”

“My pure, pure innocent ears!” Oikawa shrieks, instantly covering his ears. It’s the very definition of melodramatic, and it looks like it’s just about it to push Yahaba over the edge to a total breakdown.

“Oh please,” Hanamaki snickers. “As if you didn’t imagine you and Hinata, in the backseat of that car—”

Oikawa gasps, indignant. “Well, as if you didn’t do a goddamn striptease—”

“Oi, Shittykawa!” Iwaizumi shouts, annoyed. Oikawa sighs, all teasing attitude gone.

“Iwa-chan, don’t be a stick in the mud,” Oikawa tells him. “You’re just not _telling_ us how you wooed him.”

“Yeah, _Iwa-chan,”_ Matsukawa teases. Iwaizumi leans forwards and smacks Matsukawa upside the head.

A sharp knock on the door interrupts their shenanigans, startling everyone enough to shock them into silence. There’s a few moments of silence before a small, shaky voice speaks, muffled through the door.

 _“C-can I come in?”_ the voice of Yachi calls.

“Sure,” Matsukawa says, voice loud enough that she can hear.

Yachi nervously pokes in her head, pulling her clipboard tight to her chest. “Kiyo— I mean, Shimizu said to fetch you. The crew is wondering where you are.”

Iwaizumi is the first to head to the door. “Sorry about that, we’ll head out now.”

The rest of the shoot goes off without a hitch, but leaves everyone drained to the point of their eyelids drooping, limbs like lead, dead at their sides. Oikawa drags himself through the motions of changing into his comfortable clothes, taking out his contacts and slipping on his smudged glasses after rubbing his face raw of makeup. Beside him, Hanamaki is practically falling asleep, draped over Matsukawa’s shoulder, Iwaizumi brushing his teeth just to get it over with. There’s nothing more he wants to do than head home and collapse into bed, but suddenly, his phone blings.

_shou-chan <3<3<3: hey, howd the shoot go? call me if you can!!! _

Oikawa’s heart melts, and somehow, through his sleep muddled brain, he finds the energy to smile.

_☆*: . Oikawa Tooru.:*☆: we can talk when i get home!! see you then o/_

His stomach is pins and needles, and he knows the others are staring, but he can’t even bring himself to care.

—

**_NEW LEXUS Q800 COMMERCIAL FT. OIKAWA TOORU AND HINATA SHOUYOU_ **

[Click to view](https://youtu.be/UcpBxtwZ5qg)

Comments

 

tooru264: HOLUY FUCKSIGN SHIT  OH H MY GOD

 

hvnvmvkipeach:  that was….. Gay

 

lights-on-oikawa: DID ANYONE SEE THAT BOY… THAT OIKAWA… HIS _CHEST_

 

matsuhana430666: okay but that was so beautiful like… that car costs more than my entire body and here they are SURFING

 

modellest: the romantic tension… who knew they were actors?? or is that not acting…

 

hhhhhhhhhhhana: okay okay guys can we just take a moment to realize that like, oikawa, who is ILLUSIVE to the modelling industry despite being drooled over, shows up with hinata, the new up incoming model, and they somehow outshine every single thing any other model has ever done

 

Q0430dance: hinata is so soft and then oikawa is so good and theyre so ?? calm together what the hell its so nice like just saying theyd be so great together

—

“Oh jesus,” Hinata says as he walks into the living room, television hooked up to Hanamaki’s phone. “What’s going on?”

“We’re gonna watch your commercial you did with Oikawa,” Iwaizumi explains, motioning for him to sit down beside him and Matsukawa. Hinata follows his instructing, walking towards them only for Matsukawa to reach out and pull him down into his lap. Hinata squeaks, the arms wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him closer into Matsukawa’s arms.

“G-guys, why?” he asks, cheeks flushing now that his back is pressed up against Matsukawa’s chest, even more so with the memory of all those stares looping in his mind.

“They wanted to see!” Oikawa shouts from the ground. “And _I_ want to show them!”

Hinata hums in a daze, still trying to focus while sitting in Matsukawa’s lap. He’s lucky that Matsukawa has the leniency not to whisper directly into his ear, because that would only make the situation harder than it already is.

“Okay, it’s all ready,” Hanamaki calls, his home screen projected onto the television. The butterflies in Hinata’s stomach don’t dampen as he clicks play, the commercial flickering across the screen.

It’s only thirty seconds long, but the entire time is spent holding his breath. It’s _strange_ , for lack of better word, seeing how transfixed he is on Oikawa in every scene, how his lips lay parted and his hands inching forwards on sheer _instinct_. He looks at him, wonders _was I actually looking at him like that?_ The question bounces off of the walls of his mind, grows more and more real as he sees the way Oikawa stares.

Every part of him feels hyperreal, and not just because he can feel the warm breath of Matsukawa on his neck, but because Oikawa looks at him like one would look at the stars, with the same amount of amazement and reverence, tongue grazing over his lips, smile so faint it almost isn’t there. Sea water glistens off of his cheek, the storm of the sea juxtaposing the calamity of the entire situation. It ends, _finally,_ after what feels like a year, the vacuum of silence in the room released with the sound of a whistle.

“You did a great job,” Hanamaki says, raising his brows as he pulls his phone from where it was connected to the TV. “Oikawa, for actually _doing_ it— I was surprised. And Hinata, you— you looked beautiful.”

Hinata is shocked into silence, hyperaware of everything happening around him. Oikawa looks up at Hinata, eyes warm, wide. Hinata shoots him the slightest workings of a shy smile, running a hand through his hair. Matsukawa’s chin rests atop his head, his arms slinking tighter around his waist.

“Makki is right— you looked gorgeous,” he says, voice warm, humming through Hinata’s body. Hinata manages not to shudder, thank god, but his insides still squeeze at the sensation.

Iwaizumi, who sits beside them, clears his throat before speaking. “I really think you’ve got a definite talent, Hinata. But beyond that, I ditto what everyone has said,” he tells him. “You’re beautiful.”

“You made the shoot,” Oikawa chimes in. “I was really helpless, you pulled it together. You deserve all the recognition.”

“Thank— thank you so much,” Hinata mumbles. “I just— I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Matsukawa says from behind him. “Just enjoy Oikawa’s humility while it lasts.”

The serious attitude breaks with laughter and Oikawa’s whines of complaint, Hinata relaxing into Matsukawa’s hold, realizing he belongs where they all are, in this room, surrounded by this feeling of ever tightening elation. He wouldn’t have it any other way, takes what he can get, and prays they at least see him that way.

—

It’s later, and he and Iwaizumi stand beside each other in the kitchen, dicing up vegetables and getting dinner ready. Matsukawa sits at the counter, stealing vegetables from the both of them, hands speedy to avoid the knifes and Iwaizumi’s sharp stare.

“You’re going to lose a finger and I won’t even be sad when I drive you to emerg,” Iwaizumi tells him, pulling his cutting board away. Hinata giggles, and Matsukawa shoots him a wink.

Hinata takes the vegetables Iwaizumi had been cutting from him, mixing them with his own and placing them in the pan. It sizzles at the new temperature, and Iwaizumi leans over to take over for Hinata, brushing their shoulders together before taking place at the stove.

“Come sit,” Matsukawa says, motioning to the stool beside him. Hinata’s heart stops, and he’s almost _used_ to the feeling by now, doesn't even second guess his own breathing as he scooches towards Matsukawa, already anticipating the hand that wraps around his waist.

“So, supermodel,” Matsukawa says, hand slipping into the pocket of Hinata’s jeans. “You ready to watch me and Iwaizumi kick some rapper ass tomorrow night?”

Hinata holds back the noise of surprise, Matsukawa’s hand dangerously close to his butt. “Huh?” he asks, turning towards Matsukawa. “What do you mean?”

“Matsukawa and I were offered spots on a variety show,” Iwaizumi explains. “Shimizu gave us the okay to go on it. It’s called _Grease ‘nd Gold_ , have you heard of it?”

Hinata nods. “I’ve _heard_ of it, but I’ve only ever seen clips and stuff,” he says.

“It’s an underground rap show that runs monthly online. Run independent from any large scale music labels or companies, so there’s lots of underground rappers and artists, famous more in the hiphop scene than idol,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Because of that, there’s always been some sort of rivalry when idol rappers go on the show— stereotype being that they’re silver spoonfed and talentless compared to the others.”

Matsukawa grins. “I haven’t been on this show since I was sixteen. Underground, airing live, HQ can’t touch what happens— I’m more than ready. I’m gonna _win._ ”

Iwaizumi hums from the stove, idly stirring the contents in the pan. “Don’t get cocky,” he warns. “They’re gonna eat us alive.”

“You’re being modest,” Matsukawa groans. He turns to Hinata, biting his lip. “Just cheer for us, babe, and make sure to watch the whole time.”

The pet name makes Hinata’s blush flare up again, entire body lightening as Matsukawa draws him in a little bit closer. Carefully, he leans over so that his head rests on Matsukawa’s shoulder, closing his eyes tentatively as the hand moves from his back pocket to rest on the front of his hip.

It feels natural, domestic, even, how they fit together and meld together, how Iwaizumi sings softly under his breath as he cooks and how Matsukawa says steady like a rock as Hinata leans on him. He thinks, _it could be this way forever,_ thinks, _this could mean something more._ Matsukawa’s hand moves to pet at his hair, and _oh_ , would Hinata love to just sleep like this, live like this forever.

—

The day of the show, it rains. It doesn’t matter either way, but it makes for ambiance as they get ready, sitting together in a practically empty room, each thinking something private in preparation for an evening that could be anything but predictable.

Matsukawa doesn’t want to admit he’s nervous. He _isn’t_ nervous, per se. Just jittery, antsy, anxious to begin.

Matsukawa fixes his bomber jacket, shoving his hands into the pockets off his distressed jeans. He’s dressed casually for the occasion, platform sneakers being the most expensive part of his outfit, graphic tee tucked into his pants with a flannel. There aren’t any stylists in the enormous studio, leaving him and Iwaizumi to their own devices. Kiyoko had, as always, gotten them there early, meaning they had time to themselves before they’d have to start airing the show live.

Across from him, Iwaizumi fixes his shirt, long sleeved, sports styled, paired with black joggers and sports sneakers. He’s going through his pre-event routine— breathe in, breathe out, shake hands, wring hands, rinse and repeat. They’ve got time, but the nerves still settle in, he guesses.

“You’re not gonna chicken out, are you?” Matsukawa jests, grinning as Iwaizumi turns around.

He rolls his eyes. “And let you take all the glory? No chance.”

Matsukawa smirks, and idea popping into his mind. “You wanna make a wager?”

Iwaizumi purses his lip. “What kind?”

“Since Oikawa and Makki have thrown their chances away, how about we do this? Whoever gets furthest makes the first move on Hinata,” Matsukawa says, devilish smile wide on his face. “You win, you go, I win, I go. Sound like a plan?”

Iwaizumi seems to hesitate for a moment, as if he has to think about it. He’s already technically made a move on Hinata, but he still hasn’t told the others about it. It doesn’t take long for him to shake his head, matching Matsukawa’s smug expression with a smile of his own.

“Alright, you’re on,” Iwaizumi says. Out of the corner of their eyes, they spot Kiyoko at the doorway, signature clipboard in hand, hair tied back and a patient look on her face. “You ready?”

Matsukawa barks out a laugh. “Are you?”

—

Hanamaki sets up the livestream on the TV in the living room, Oikawa throwing Hinata a bag of sour gummies as he runs to jump onto the couch. Hinata, sitting on the many pillows scattered across the floor, eagerly rips open the back as Hanamaki announces he’s finished, scooching over so he can join him sitting down.

“It’s supposed to start anytime now,” Hanamaki tells him, not able to contain the elated look on his face. “God, I’m excited.”

“Me too!” Hinata enthuses. Oikawa sneaks up from behind him, sneaking his hand into the bag of gummies and stealing a handful, getting into Hinata’s personal space as he does so.

“Shh, it’s starting,” he chimes, leaning back and popping one of the gummies into his mouth, nearly snorting at the sight of Hinata and Hanamaki’s transfixed looks at the television as the program starts.

The variety webshow begins with an explanation of the game and the rules— it’s paired matchups with a set background trap to rap to, but any contestant can opt for no music if they choose. They’re given ten minutes to prepare for each new battle, with the loser being kicked off and the winner advancing until only one is left. It’s after that that the winner is “crowned” and given a cash prize. With the rules announced, an opening sequence plays, revealing this month’s twenty contestants, Iwaizumi and Matsukawa announced last.

“There’s my man,” Hanamaki says, pointing towards the flashing image of Matsukawa that appeared across the screen.

An MC takes the centre stage, introducing himself as Konoha and announcing the first matchup— two rappers none of the three care for. Hinata tries and fails to keep Oikawa’s hands off of him and his gummies, practically leaning on Hanamaki as Iwaizumi’s round begins.

Hinata jolts upright, holding his breath as Iwaizumi takes the stage. He’s looking smugger than he’s ever seen, posture set, mic held to his lips, every movement made as if he already knew he was going to win. Hinata bites his lip, getting hyped as Iwaizumi’s turn ends and the opponent is subsequently kicked off.

“He didn’t even stand a chance,” Oikawa sighs, tossing another gummy in his mouth. “Oh no, look at Matsukawa’s opponent! He looks scared to death.”

Matsukawa’s battle practically ends before it begins, the challenger slipping up on their lines and Matsukawa looking at them with almost _pity_ before he takes his own turn. After utterly destroying him in a way that leaves Hinata and Hanamaki reeling, the first round ends, twenty being cut down to ten. They cut to break as they prepare for the next round, casual interviews and commercials being played as they wait.

“Who’s the cocky kid with the weird hair?” Hanamaki asks, pointing at someone on the screen. “He looks like he’s about to murder my boyfriend.”

“Ooh, they’re about to interview him,” Oikawa points out, motioning to the MC who approaches the unknown rapper as they speak. Across the screen flashes _Terushima Yuuji_ as a man with a half shaven head and oddly done dye job stares at the camera, answering whatever question he was just asked.

 _“I really don’t think either Matsukawa or Iwaizumi have any real talent,”_ he says, rolling his eyes. _“Like, dude, they sing shitty songs for crazed fans and overcharge on stuff like… I don’t know, arena concerts. They can’t even rap. I’m facing Matsukawa in this round, and really, it’ll be a walk in the park!”_

“Ex-fucking-cuse me!” Hanamaki shouts. “The only reason _you_ passed was because you had a good beat.”

Hinata scrunches his nose. “He sounds jealous,” he says. “I think he even knows what he’s saying is a lie.”

“He’s gonna regret saying that too,” Oikawa laughs, moving to lie down across the couch as Iwaizumi takes the stage to go up against his challenger.

His battle is a bit more tense than the last, but his flow and beat crush the opponent with ease either way. Hinata sighs to himself as the camera zooms in on him drinking his water bottle, some dribbling down the corner of his mouth. The HD resolution catches the glow of his skin as he wipes his mouth and goes back to stand with the other winners as another few people are cut, bringing them to Matsukawa’s stage.

 _“For his rap, Matsukawa has chosen to forego a backing track,”_ Konoha announces, the studio crowd mumbling as Matsukawa takes his mic, already grinning as he approaches Terushima.

Within seconds, words slip out of his mouth, razor sharp, careless yet precise enough to cut through the air, personality and charm dripping from every word, boasting himself while insulting the person in front of him. Matsukawa takes a few steps forwards so that he’s in his space, makes a comment about his hair and saying it died last week, laughs it off with a turn to finish the verse without even rising to anger, looking at his nails before delivering a final blow with a smirk.

The crowd goes wild at the end of it, cheering and hollering as Terushima’s background track starts up, something upbeat and trap. He’s good at what he does, but his voice is nasally and his rap sounds like he’s throwing a fit, Matsukawa almost laughing at one point where he tries to diss. Against someone else, he could’ve won, but against him, he hardly stood a chance.

Hinata replays that smirk in his mind, thinking about Matsukawa’s voice in his ear, thinking about him licking his lips and laughing. He’s distracted, he knows, and they’ve made the cut to the final four by now, meaning there’s another break as they prepare. It gives Hinata enough time to announce he needs to go to the washroom and escape to solitude to splash water on his face and try to collect himself.

 _I’m a mess,_ he thinks to himself as he returns to the other two, who have started placing bets on who they think will win. People whisper in the stands, fans cheering names loud enough to be heard through the video. All three of their phones vibrate, likely from some kind of notification having to do with the fact that Iwaizumi and Matsukawa had gotten this far. In a twist of events, Iwaizumi and Matsukawa got turned against one another, meaning one of them will have to lose for the other to win.

“Oh, they look _evil_ ,” Oikawa cackles. “They always get so amped for these kind of things. Competitiveness—”

“ _S_ _hh!”_ Hinata and Hanamaki say and unison, Hanamaki reaching back to slap Oikawa’s shoulder as Iwaizumi approaches Matsukawa looking dead serious, saying something to him that the mic doesn’t manage to pick up before the beat drops and his rap starts.

_“Okay Matsukawa, that dead look is getting old._

_Let me turn up the heat, you’re so cold._

_While I’m winning hearts, you’re out there being told._

_I’m like midas- everything I touch is gold!”_

“Oh man, he isn’t holding back,” Hanamaki comments, Hinata pushing on his thigh to get him to quiet down as the rap continues on.

 _“Got a model lined up that I thought you’d like_ —”

The crowd, and the room, quickly erupts into a chorus of _oooooh_ ’s, tension growing at the jest. Hinata ignores any implications, listening for the next line.

_“See this bait, shark? Hey, go take a bite._

_I’ll win what you want without a fight._

_WWE. I’ve got the guns. That’s right.”_

“He does have great arms,” Hinata mumbles to himself. If Hanamaki and Oikawa hear, neither say anything, casting knowing glances if anything.

_“In the dead of night, I kill you like a robber._

_Take your boys, take your talent, take all your dollars._

_You’re looking like a puppy lost without a collar._

_Well fuck that, I’m a wolf. Listen to me holler.”_

“Iwa-chan swore!” Oikawa exclaims in mock disdain.

_“Don't need paps to get what I want._

_Don't need an ID when my name turns them on._

_Name’s Iwaizumi._

_They won't take their eyes off me._

_Making them thirsty._

_You found HQ, but HQ found me.”_

With that, the track ends, the crowd bursting into cheers, Hinata’s face already burning red at the intensity of the entire thing. Iwaizumi wipes his brow, laughing at the reaction of the crowd as he backs up a little bit, glancing towards the camera as if he knows Hinata is watching in awe. Slipping off his cardigan, Hinata takes a deep breath, thinking about the line _got a model lined up_ and trying not to get his hopes up in what that might mean.

Suddenly, Matsukawa’s track picks up, heavy in base, dark and foreboding as he takes a step forwards, so _uncaring_ in his steely glare.

_“Listen, I don’t have anything to take, at least not from you._

_You here to take my money? My skills? Get a boyfriend too?”_

“Goddamn,” Hanamaki whistles.

_“Oh, I'm gonna have to pass._

_My boys won’t like you just because you’ve got an ass.”_

“That’s our man!” Hanamaki shouts, throwing an arm around Hinata who practically freezes, dumbstruck, as Matsukawa drags his tongue over his lips.

_“Your goal’s to get laid? Already got that checked._

_He's already drooling over me, you wanna take a bet?_

_You call yourself a wolf. Where's your flow, do you need a vet?_

_Don’t turn around, Iwa-chan~! I haven’t started yet!”_

At the use of Oikawa’s trademark and sometimes patronizing petname, most of the audience breaks into a mixed reaction of pure laughter and astonishment, Oikawa behind them choosing the former as Matsukawa continues.

_“You got a face like a soldier and the bod to match,_

_Too bad you're too short to ever be dispatched._

_Now look at me, there's a catch._

_I got everything he wants- a perfect match._

_Next time I bend over, it won’t be to bow,_

_But let’s focus on the words I’m spitting out now._

_Go back to training and rap, so you can learn how._

_The one who'll be winning? That’s me, motherfucker, pow!”_

And then Matsukawa holds out his arm, dropping the mic with a self assured grin, eyes lazily half lidded, practically basking in the cheers and applause of the audience. Hinata sighs, releasing a breath he had somehow contained the whole time, watching as Matsukawa is chosen as the winner and the two congratulate each other, cooling off enough to laugh at how serious they were.

“The testosterone there was really killing me,” Oikawa comments.

Hanamaki fans himself, throwing back his head. “Well, I’ll probably be busy tonight,” he says with a wink. “Hinata, wasn’t that like, the _hottest_ thing?”

Hinata, luckily, doesn’t have a drink to choke on. With his entire body blushing, Hinata clears his throat, Hanamaki’s innuendo not going over his head.

“It was— wow,” he breathes. “I uh— I really enjoyed th— it. I enjoyed it.”

“You enjoyed them?” Hanamaki teases. “I know _I_ enjoyed Matsukawa.”

Hinata’s brain short circuits, Hanamaki’s grin shit eating and in his face. Leaning away, Hinata shoves his face into a nearby pillow, not wanting to show how red his face has gotten.

“Oh my god, _stop,_ ” Hinata pleads, voice muffled by pillow. “I’m just… I meant their rapping!”

Oikawa giggles in the background as Hanamaki hums, lying down next to Hinata’s head. “Well, I know I like Matsukawa’s rapping for a _number_ of reasons, and if anyone would understand, it’d be you.”

“He’s your _boyfriend!_ ” Hinata shouts, turning his face out of the pillow to scold Hanamaki. It’s a mistake, because he comes face to face with Hanamaki’s sparkling eyes and wide smile, tongue caught between teeth.

“Yeah, and?” he asks.

Hinata freezes, sputtering in panic. His mind becomes a constant loop of _am I that obvious? Does he know I like his boyfriend? Does he know I like him? Is he upset? Is this his way of telling me off?_

“Maaaaaakki, lay off,” Oikawa drawls. He leans off the couch, throwing his arms around the now sitting up Hinata, pressing his face into Hinata’s shoulder. Hinata’s breath shakes as he exhales, calming down slightly at the comfort of Oikawa’s arms encasing him. “Shou-chan, you’re adorable.”

Hinata sputters again before finding it useless, sighing and giving into the hug. Beside him, Hanamaki scoots back, giving him a little breathing room.

“I’m just teasing, don’t worry,” Hanamaki says. “If you want something to drink, we got your kind of soda. It’s in the fridge.” Hinata hums, detangling himself from an unwilling Oikawa’s arms.

“Shouuuuu-chan, don’t leave me!” he whines, watching as Hinata rises to a stand.

“I’ll be right back.” Hinata smiles, leaving the room and the other two to their own devices.

Hanamaki raises his brows at Oikawa, shaking his head as he leans back onto his elbows. “Well, that sure was interesting.”

“What the _hell_ were they doing? That seemed a little serious for an online variety show.”

Hanamaki shrugs. “No idea, but they seemed friendly enough afterwards so I’m not worried,” he says. “They probably just wanted to blow off pent up tension, and you know how competitive they get…”

“Let them think they’re big shots for the night,” Oikawa sighs, smiling. “I mean, we were the ones who got to see Hinata’s reaction.”

Hanamaki grins, holding out his hand for a high-five as Hinata walks back into the room, cracking open his can of pop as he sits back down. Just as he does, his phone rings in his pocket, making everyone in the room jump.

“Shit, sorry— it’s Kuroo, one sec,” Hinata says, picking it up and answering it. “Hello?”

There’s a few moments of pause before Hinata blinks, looking slightly dejected. “Oh, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow at six then. Bye!”

Dropping his phone onto the ground, he groans, sighing heavily. “I have to be at a shoot early tomorrow morning,” he laments. “I won’t be able to stay up until they come back.”

“Damn, and it’s late too,” Hanamaki comments, staring at the time on his phone. The clock reads eleven thirty. By now, the night sky is pitch black and most of the city spends it tuesday night asleep.

“You know,” Oikawa says, after a beat on silence. “If you need to be up so early, you can just crash in my room. I don’t mind.”

Hinata remembers the last time he slept in one of their rooms, remembers waking up to Iwaizumi and almost having the satisfaction of his lips against his. If his face heats up, nobody comments.

“Uh, yeah, that’d be nice,” Hinata stammers. “Do you have my toothbrush?”

“It’s still under the bathroom sink,” Oikawa tells him with a smile.

Hinata sighs, corners of his mouthing lifting. “I guess I’ll head off then, get ready to sleep. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll leave some clothes by the door for you!” Oikawa calls as Hinata pads towards the bathroom.

Hanamaki turns to Oikawa, rolling his eyes at his look of pure _glee_ at offering Hinata to wear his clothes. Oikawa pays him no mind, skipping down the hall to his bedroom, throwing open his dresser and ruffling through for the comfiest, most appealing sleepwear he could find.

Really, he could admit, he was milking this for all it was worth.

A few minutes later, he arrives at the bathroom door with a v neck, well worn _Twin Peaks_ shirt and some, probably too large, sleep shorts. Knocking lightly on the door, he waits for Hinata’s muffled reply of _I’m decent!_ to push the door open.

Oikawa’s heart isn’t ready for the sight of Hinata, hair ruffled, toothbrush sticking hastily out of his mouth, toothpaste foaming around his lips. There’s something strangely intimate about how he looks, barefaced, getting ready for bed, eyes wide and doe-like in the way that always makes Oikawa’s breath catch.

“Oikwafwa?” Hinata says, voice muddled through the toothpaste.

Realizing he’s been staring, Oikawa smiles, trying to contain the quick rise of colour to his cheeks. “Clothes!” he chirps. “They may be a little big, but they’re just for sleeping.”

“Yeah,” Hinata breathes. He’s flushed down his neck, and Oikawa _really_ has to contain himself from wondering if it continues lower as Hinata takes a moment to lean over to the sink, spitting out his toothpaste and rinsing his mouth.

“I’ll, um, be outside,” Oikawa says, sugar tone breaking slightly. “Tea before bed?”

Hinata takes the clothes from him, shaking his head. “Not tonight.” After a moment of pause, they meet each other’s eyes. “G’night, Oikawa,” he tells him, and oh, it’s more genuine than Oikawa ever dreamed.

“Sweet dreams, Shou-chan,” Oikawa says, leaving with a softened smile as he shuts the door behind him.

His heart flutters, stomach twists, chest drops. He pictures Hinata on the other side of the door, slipping on _his_ clothes, and tries not to choke on his own breath.

 _Dear lord,_ he thinks to himself, walking back to the living room. _Am I helpless._

—

Hanamaki is really, really excited when his boyfriend gets home. Not _quite_ in the bouncing-off-the-walls-in-glee way, but close enough. The moment he hears the keys jingle, he bolts upright, scaring Oikawa enough that his headphones fall out of his ears as he rushes to the foyer, ready when Matsukawa pushes through the door.

The best way to describe what happens next is to say that Hanamaki _jumps_ him, grabbing Matsukawa by the collar of his shirt and spinning him so that he can push him against the wall and press their lips together. While Matsukawa wastes no time in hesitation, hands flying to the back of Hanamaki’s neck as Hanamaki’s tongue drags across his lip, everyone else in the room groans.

“Please don’t,” Iwaizumi sighs, kicking off his shoes. “You’ve already destroyed any ounce of sanity I had.”

“ _Shhhh!_ ” Oikawa whispers. “All of you— Hinata’s sleeping!”

Hanamaki detaches himself from Matsukawa, leaving one last kiss to his lips before pulling away completely. “Speaking of our dear, lovely Hinata— what the _hell_ was that?” he asks, looking from Matsukawa to Iwaizumi and then back. “Like, babe, I admit, I’m turned on—”

“Too much information, Hanamaki,” Iwaizumi cuts in.

“—but I’m curious to know what _exactly_ you had planned out there.”

Matsukawa and Iwaizumi stare at each other with the universal look of _do we tell them?_ plastered across their face. Iwaizumi shrugs, rolling his eyes and walks towards the living room.

“It was a bet,” he grumbles.

“A bet?” Oikawa repeats, cocking his head.

“A bet he lost,” Matsukawa says, smug. “Whoever wins makes the move on Hinata first. And _I_ won.”

Oikawa scoffs, as if he wouldn't do something just as petty. “Children, both of you,” he says. “I don't want to be the voice of reason, but you know Yachi will have a whole new workload trying to tackle this stunt, right?”

“Don't worry, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi promises. “We’ll take responsibility and all. It wasn't your move anyway.”

“Don't pout, you’ll get wrinkles,” Matsukawa says with a grin. He turns to Hanamaki enough so that his lips brush the top of his ear. “Wanna head to bed, babe?”

“Mm,” Hanamaki hums in agreement. “We’ll see you guys in the morning. Laters.”

“Please don't keep me up,” Iwaizumi says, noting how Hanamaki turns from halfway down the hall to stick out his tongue before grabbing his boyfriend’s ass and shutting their bedroom door.

From beside Iwaizumi, Oikawa sighs. It’s a little startling at times, how quickly his mood will drop, how the weariness sets in. He sees it in the crinkles of his eyes as he yawns, stretches out his shoulders.

“M’need to get the futon,” he mumbles. “Sh- Hinata's sleeping in my bed.”

Iwaizumi furrows his brow. “Oikawa, have you eaten? You sound… faint.”

Oikawa makes a noise, sighing. “Yeah, I did, I'm just…” he trails off. “It's been busy. You know how it is.”

Iwaizumi hums in sympathy, going through the routine of switching off lights and starting the dishwasher. He pauses, staring at Oikawa for a few, heavy moments. He’s taken the futon from the linen closet, but hasn’t made any move to set it up, simply staring off into space.

“God, I love him,” Oikawa whispers. “I- I just…”

“We all do,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Hey, you know these things take time. You aren't doing anything wrong by wanting to be with him, for longing.”

“It's a little pathetic, is it not?” Oikawa chokes out a laugh, shaking his head. “Me, the aloof, wonderfully flirtatious, Oikawa Tooru— hesitating,” he huffs out, lips twinging up in a sarcastic, half-assed smile.

“You know that's not true,” Iwaizumi scolds. “You aren't hesitating, and you _know_ he cares about you.”

Oikawa shrugs, biting his lip. “I'm just… tired. And I want to hold him.”

“You _will_ ,” Iwaizumi assures him. He looks over at the time, at the clock reading two in the morning. “You're overtired and overworked— you should sleep.”

Oikawa nods, running his hands through his hair. “Yeah, you’re right. Night,” he says, now holding the futon to his chest. “I'll… see you in the morning."

Iwaizumi nods, wishing him goodnight before flicking the living room light off, engulfing the room in darkness. Iwaizumi thinks about the pining, about the yearning. He wonders how long Oikawa’s known what he just confessed, that they love him. He wonders if Hinata would believe them if they all told him it was true.

—

Hinata wakes up in a bed that isn’t his, in clothes he doesn't own. They smell like citrus and rosemary— like Oikawa, like his laundry detergent and soap. His phone’s alarm is what wakes him, chiming menacingly, ripping him from sleep. With a yawn and a rub of his eyes, he sits up, pulls Oikawa's heavy duvet off of him and pads silently towards the kitchen to find something to eat.

When he enters the room, it's to find Oikawa eating cereal, sitting on the kitchen counter. The sun has only just thought about rising, a careful lightened sky being the only indicator that it's even time to be awake. With a smile that shows no wish for sleep, Oikawa beckons Hinata closer, hops off and fetches him a mug as Hinata heads towards the kettle.

“Sleep well?” he asks. His hair is wet, and he's wearing glasses. Hinata wants to taste the toothpaste that probably still lingers in his mouth.

“Y-yeah,” Hinata tells him. “You?”

Oikawa shrugs. “Could be better, could be worse. Thought I'd wake up to see you off either way,” he says.

Hinata blushes— _why now?_ — and drops a tea bag into the mug Oikawa gave him, filling it with hot water. “Sorry for taking your bed,” he winces. “And your clothes.”

Oikawa's eyes flicker up and down his frame. Hinata thinks his eyes linger on where the shirt falls off his shoulder, too big to stay. He gulps, taking a large swig of his drink. “You’re always welcome to, Shou-chan, don't be silly.”

Now Hinata is sure Oikawa's eyes follow the blush across his shoulders. Silently, he moves to ready a bowl of cereal— they've bought his kind by now— listens to Oikawa as he hums under his breath, putting away the dishes as Hinata eats.

It's quiet, but not eerily so. Rather, in a way that comes with the morning after nothing in particular, sleepover sleep stuck in each other's eyes and little truths hidden behind teeth. Hinata finishes his cereal, washes both Oikawa's and his mug because he's the guest, all despite his persistence.

Hinata checks the time on the stove, sighing to break the domesticity in the air. “I need to get going and change,” he says, a little exasperated. Distantly, Oikawa thinks it looks cute on him.

“Feel free to grab any of the stuff from my closet to wear,” Oikawa offers. “I mean, you're changing into nice, high end stuff anyways but if you don't wanna wear what you did yesterday—”

“Really?” Hinata says, lighting up. “That'd be— that’d be really good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They stare at each other, half smiling, half itching to grow closer than a foot apart. Hinata reluctantly turns around, makes his way back to Oikawa's bedroom and shuts the door behind him, releases a lung’s worth of air he'd been holding the entire time.

He changes back into his own pants out of not having the time to try and make some of Oikawa's fit him. Tentatively, he looks over to Oikawa's open closet, looks in at the clashing fabrics and much too expensive clothes to look like they came from a child’s drawing. One shirt sticks out to him— plain, white, crisp button down, with minimal creases and a softened finish. Hinata prays this isn't weird— _friends share clothes when they need to_ — and pulls on the button down, loose, over the shirt he fell asleep in.

 _Friends share clothes too,_ he reminds himself, breathing in the scent of Oikawa’s shirt.

Friends. _Friends._

Hinata doesn’t want to be just friends.

—

Hinata’s shoot takes place on a roof.

It’s windy— the kind of windy that you don’t associate with the slow morning sunrise, dawn creaking over a hazy city. They’ve got him wearing something patterned, blocky and bold, screaming seventies and colours and all kinds of brightness. His mind, the entire time, loops like a record, spins back to that morning, even as the camera shutters.

It’s kind of nice, being the sole model for the shoot. Hinata gets a little more leeway, a little more free will. He can sit on the edge of the roof and kick his feet, can spread his arms as wide as he wants without fear of someone else being there.

He likes being alone for once. He doesn’t like the feeling of loneliness, of _wanting_ a certain few people by his side.

It’s when it’s finished, and Hinata changes back into his— Oikawa’s— clothes, that Kuroo arrives, hair unruly as ever and large cup of coffee in his hands. His eyes scan over Hinata’s attire, and he almost laughs, so smug and sure of what he sees.

“You alright being up this early? Sorry about that,” he says, leading Hinata inside of the building. It’s an office building of sorts, for some magazine or another.

“It’s okay! I’m usually up early anyways,” Hinata tells him, unsure why he would think being up early was a problem.

Kuroo leads him down a hall, towards a small little meeting room that’s unused. Hinata takes a seat in one of the chairs, spinning idly as Kuroo shuts the door and smiles.

“I have landed you the _greatest_ runway yet,” he tells him, and Hinata can tell he’s excited about this. “It’s _Comme Des Garçons_ —”

“Holy hell,” Hinata says, eyes widening.

“That’s not the cool part,” Kuroo assures him. “The cool part is that it’s a huge dinner for the designer— lavish party, long, high profile guest list. And you, Hinata Shouyou, will take part in the fashion show that runs before supper.”

Hinata shakes his head. “You’re— you’re kidding!” he exclaims in disbelief.

Kuroo shrugs. “Not in the least. Your, ah, _‘friends’_ should’ve made the guest list. I’m planning on, um, inviting Kenma too,” he says, his composure drifting off slightly. “But! You do get dinner. Kageyama and Alisa are going, too.”

Hinata still reels from the news, spinning his chair back and forth with nothing else to do in his shock. “I— um, thank you,” he repeats blinking hard. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’ll email you the details later,” Kuroo tells him. “Go celebrate landing this, Hinata.”

“Okay!” Hinata shouts, standing up. Thanking Kuroo one last time, he skips out of the room, heading back down to the street level and hailing a cab to take home.

As he sits in the backseat, he pulls out his phone, texting Kenma a message that consists of _KENMA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM WALKING COMME DES GARCONS!!!!!!!!!!!!! AT THIS FANCY DINENR THINGA AAAAAA_. His fingers hesitate, not knowing how to broach the subject with the others, not knowing if they’re busy before noon. At the very least, he knows Oikawa is well awake, supposing there’s no harm in pressing _call_ and trying to get a hold of him at least. The phone only dials for a few moments before being picked up, Oikawa much more chipper than when they last talked.

 _“Shou-chan! What do I owe the pleasure?”_ he asks. There’s a little bit of shuffling, but otherwise the background is quiet.

“Um, well I was going to tell everyone, but I wasn’t sure if they were up,” Hinata says. “But, you can relay it or I can call back or whatever— I, um, got a spot at this _Comme Des Garçon_ runway, at a fancy dinner thing.”

 _“Really?”_ Oikawa very nearly shouts.  _“Oh my god, congrats! That’s— that’s huge!”_

Hinata blushes, leaning his head back onto the seat. “Yeah, I’m super excited,” he says. “And thank you so much, I’m so… _gwah_ , I can’t believe it.”

 _“I can. You’re much better than you give yourself credit for,"_ Oikawa tells him. _“Wow, the other’s are going to be ecstatic when they hear this— they’re still sleeping. I’m glad I got to hear first.”_

Hinata shields his face out of habit, despite not even being in the same room as Oikawa. “Is— are you going? To the dinner, I mean.”

_“Oh! Yeah, Shimizu mentioned it a little while ago, supposed to be good press. Though, I bet it’ll be more fun now that I know you’ll be there. I’ll get her to make room at our table. Are you eating?”_

“Kuroo _said_ we’re getting dinner, but that doesn’t mean we get to eat with you. I know that after the show we can mingle and such, get changed out of the outfits we’re modelling.”

 _“Either way, I’m really looking forward to it now,”_ Oikawa says, sincerity showing through his voice. _“I’m just about to head out on my run, we can talk later— maybe facetime with everyone? It’s open schedule today.”_

“That sounds great,” Hinata tells him.

 _“Oh!”_ Oikawa exclaims. _“Speaking of dinner, there’s a dinner tonight to celebrate the album launch tomorrow. The whole team is going, and I might as well let you know now that you’re one-hundred percent invited. We’ve got you a seat and everything.”_

“Ah, I won’t be intruding?” Hinata worries.

_“Of course not. You’ve been apart of this just as much as anyone else, you should be there. So?”_

Hinata doesn’t have to pause to consider. “Of course I’ll go, I’d love to.”

 _“Amazing!”_ Oikawa sings. _“Okay, I really should be heading out now, before it gets too hot.”_

Hinata grins, stomach fluttering in glee. “I’ll talk to you later then!”

 _“Bye, Shou-chan! Congrats again!”_ he calls before hanging up.

Hinata exhales, letting his shoulders drop. Electricity buzzes through him, excitement mixing with the nerves as he pays the fare and heads back up to his apartment, unaware and curious of what the night could have in store.

_—_

Hinata looks in the mirror one last time as Kenma pokes his head into his room, looking for him.

“You look fine,” he tells him. “They won’t suddenly drop you because your collar isn’t right.”

Hinata sighs, deciding to go with one button undone, turning around to face Kenma. “Are they at the door?”

Kenma shakes his head. “I let them come inside, told them you were still getting ready.”

“Kenma!” Hinata hisses, instantly worried. “Now they’ll think I’m last minute!”

“You are?”

“Still!”

Kenma rolls his eyes. “Just go see them. I promise, they’re tripping over themselves waiting to see you.”

Hinata takes a deep breath, rolling out his shoulders before following Kenma back into the living room where the four are, sitting on the edge of their couch, talking idly as they wait. When Hinata enters, their heads turn towards him, a heart shaped smile painting across Oikawa’s face at the sight of him.

“Shou-chan, you look lovely,” he says, standing up off the arm of the couch. “Is that shirt Givenchy?”

Hinata blushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, I really don’t know? I got it at the Vogue Japan shoot.”

“Either way, it suits you,” Iwaizumi tells him.

“Oikawa, how can you tell that’s Givenchy but not put together an outfit without outside help?” Matsukawa comments.

“Excuse me, I look great!” Oikawa shouts, taken aback.

Hanamaki leans over to Hinata. “He texted Yahaba last minute. The red silk shirt was his choice, and he changed his pants twice because Iwaizumi was about to get a brain hemorrhage.”

“He tried to wear _pleated pants_ ,” Iwaizumi sighs, exasperated.

Oikawa rolls his eyes, waving his hand with dramatic flair. “Does it matter? I look brilliant, so it all works out.”

“Mm, we have reservations,” Matsukawa reminds them, walking towards Hinata and slinging an arm around his waist. “Kenma, I promise he'll come back alive.”

Kenma blinks once, and Hinata is unsure why everyone save him tenses as he shrugs. “Have fun, Shouyou,” he tells him, and as Hinata turns to be led out of the door, he sees the faintest smile grace Kenma’s face.

—

The restaurant is modern, with sleek wooden tables and glassy dividing walls, soft candles burning next to artfully arranged bread baskets on tables. Their party is tucked away in a small corner of the restaurant, tables pushed together to sit everyone who comes— the five of them, the three stylists, Kiyoko and another girl, and the body guards, Hinata learns, Kyoutani and Watari. A bottle of something white sits in an ice bucket when they arrive, seats already filled with the others who smile and greet them with waves.  

He’s introduced to Yachi, a girl with short blonde hair and a little bit of a stutter when she’s speaking. She’s the publicist, Hinata finds out, which explains the nerves and the phone that seems to vibrate every other minute until she turns it off. Her and Kiyoko sit beside each other, Yachi sipping her wine and laughing nervously at every joke told. Hinata compliments her dress— floral, he was in a shoot with a girl who modelled it— and watches as she grows a little bit less skittish.

Hinata takes his seat next to Iwaizumi, at the end of the table, across from Matsukawa. The waitress comes back to greet them, and if she recognizes their faces she doesn't falter, pouring them each a glass of wine. It's smooth on the tongue when Hinata tastes it, probably the most expensive think he's ever drunk, but he's giddy and happy and brushing shoulders with Iwaizumi, so he lets his mind stop worrying for a minute.

Tonight is _their_ night, a celebration for a collective child of hard work, dedication, entire hearts poured into music. Hinata has heard the demos, read and reread rough drafts, watched dances be pieced together bit by bit by bit until it's choreography and a swirling song playing out loud— like wind chimes on a summer day, like screaming from a car window as you drive. Hinata feels the surge of pride at their glee, their nervousness. Oikawa drums his fingers against the table and laughs when Hanamaki retells a story of Oikawa first learning the dance. It makes everyone laugh— Hanamaki, like a bell, Iwaizumi, a steady rumble, Matsukawa, light, slow, dragging, Oikawa, like air.

A foot connects softly with his shin, drawing his attention towards Matsukawa in front of him. He gleams gold in the mood lighting of the darkened restaurant, wine glass held artfully in his hand, swirling the drink as he stares into Hinata's head.

“You drifted off for a second,” he says. “What’s happening in your pretty little head?”

Hinata blushes. _Alcohol,_ he tells himself. _It's just the alcohol._

“Just… happy, is all,” Hinata says, flicking his eyes away. Matsukawa’s gaze is intense even when it isn’t direct, makes him feel like the centre of attention, like he's the only thing in the world. “You've all worked tirelessly on this, I'm— I’m _proud_ , I guess.”

He dares to look up again, catches Matsukawa’s smirk fade into something softer as he brushes his foot against Hinata's. “You’re so sweet,” he muses, sipping his drink. “I'm pretty fucking lucky to know you.”

Hinata raises his brows. “You wanna talk about luck? I meet my idols, somehow land a modelling career, move to Tokyo, and pay off my mom's mortgage?”

Matsukawa sets down his glass, humming in disagreement. “No, you _worked_ your ass off for those things. The meeting us part I guess is luck but, hey, what isn't?” he says. “Either way, _I'm_ proud of you— you're gonna walk _Comme Des Garçons_ , you've made yourself a name, you've helped your family— that's all you.”

Hinata blinks twice, taken aback by his words, the sincere tone in his voice. “Mattsun, that's… I don't know what to say.”

“I got a way with words,” he shrugs, smirk returning, tapping his shin playfully. “You know that pretty well, don't you?”

Hinata doesn’t know how to respond to a clear reference to the whispering after witnessing the little crack of sincerity Matsukawa rarely chose to show, so he doesn't. Instead, he brings his glass up for a mock toast, meets Matsukawa’s midair and tips the drink back into his throat. They meet each other's eyes again, twinkling gazes warm with the buzz in their veins and the love pooling in their stomachs.

The moment is broken when Hanamaki leans onto Matsukawa, tangling his arms around him and nearly landing an elbow into Matsukawa’s plate. He rests his head on Matsukawa’s shoulder, pressing his face into the crook of his neck with a drawn out noise.

“Isseiiiiii,” he whines. “You’re pretttty.”

Matsukawa sports a bemused look of fondness, bringing a hand up to pet Hanamaki’s head. “I know babe,” he says, leaning back down to take another bite of his food. “How many drinks have you had?”

Hanamaki hums. “Dunno, like... fifteen?”

“You had three.”

“Same thing.”

Everyone at the table stifles their laughter as Matsukawa looks at Hanamaki seriously, brushing a stray eyelash from his cheek. “What’d you even order?”

“Hmmm…” Hanamaki thinks, looking at his almost empty glass. “The strongest thing they had.” He reaches for the glass, pushing it towards Matsukawa. “Take a fucking sip, babe.”

This time, the table can’t hold their laughter, Hinata covering up his mouth in order not to get food everywhere. Matsukawa pets his boyfriend’s head, abandoning the task of eating as Hanamaki stares at him, still insisting he try the drink.

Suddenly, Hanamaki jolts upright, as quickly as a rather tipsy person can, half smirking, half blinking sleep from his eyes. “M’issei, it’s hot,” he giggles, hands flying clumsily to the buttons of his shirt as he attempts to undo them. Oikawa snorts at the sight, and Iwaizumi simply groans.

“‘Hiro, you can get undressed later,” Matsukawa promises. He says it smoothly, like he’s had to three thousand times before.

“But I wanna take my clothes off _now!_ ” Hanamaki laughs. Matsukawa grabs his hands with his own, pulls them towards his lips and kisses his knuckles, effectively distracting him long enough for him to forget his quest of stripping down to his socks.

Hinata can’t contain the laughter at the absurdity of Hanamaki being a strip drunk, can’t contain the little fireworks popping inside of his chest when Matsukawa brushes his foot against his, when Iwaizumi gives him all the mushrooms he doesn’t want to eat.

It’s funny, seeing the ways everyone interacts with one another. Kyoutani is gruff in every way possible, insists he’s only there to make sure they don’t die. Yahaba scoffs at that, tells everyone about the time he caught Kyoutani listening to the _last_ album on repeat. Hinata admires his bravery because Kyoutani nearly jumps the table trying to get at him, Yahaba dodging and pushing him away with a smirk and more strength than Hinata thought he was capable.

“Alright, alright,” Watari says with a smile, tugging Kyoutani back down into his seat. He’s an interesting character— asks about Hinata’s career in modelling, seems to know about details of the industry that Hinata was still new to. Turns out he used to be a makeup artist himself, before he realized he’d rather be a mediator than deal with the ins and outs of such a glamorous career. It makes sense— he seems to know the other stylists like close friends, knows the industry like the back of his hand.

Hinata feels at place here, much more than he thought he would. He doesn’t stick out at a table of people who work together, doesn't feel like an extra awkward at the end of the table. He feels comfortable, feels _warm_.

The dinner slows to an end, Yachi and Kiyoko leaving first with polite smiles, everyone else dwindling after them until only the five are left. Hinata orders tea to end the night, splitting the lavender drink with everyone at the table. It’s nice— there’s no rush to pay or leave, the bill being paid by HQ, no more rowdy chit chat, only slow, ebbing conversation. Oikawa takes a picture when Hinata isn’t looking, the camera shutter being the only thing that notifies him of the picture being taken. For some reason, he pretends he doesn’t notice, continues to lean into Iwaizumi’s side as he drains his mug clean.

Together, they walk out of the restaurant and back down to street level, walking slowly past the neon buildings without rush or haste. Hinata points out places he’s seen in pictures, leans a little more than necessary on whoever ends up beside him, sighs when he watches Hanamaki and Matsukawa entwine hands. It’s brilliant, and he’s irreversibly in love with how the city looks behind them all.

Eventually, before he’s dropped off at home, they pause, the air growing a little more serious, more fond than it was moments before. Hinata chews on his cheek as Oikawa pulls out a delicately wrapped gift from the glove box of his car, giving it to Hinata as they stand outside of his building.

“You know, HQ is very strict about leaks,” he explains, placing the gift into Hinata’s hands. “But, we all agreed that this is something you deserve to hear first.”

Hinata blinks, staring down at the object in his hands, which he now recognizes as a CD case. “I— I’ve heard the demos, you really didn’t have to—”

“We wanted to,” Iwaizumi tells him, eyes so incredibly _warm_ as he smiles.

“G’night, Hinata,” Hanamaki tells him, words a little slurred, but still as genuine as anything else.

“Tell us what you think, yeah?” Matsukawa says. “Sleep well.”

Hinata’s heart nearly falls out of his chest as he stammers a goodbye, waving as they pile back into Oikawa's car, Hanamaki waving from the sunroof as they drive away.

It's surreal, so much so that Hinata can't resist tearing off the wrapping paper and tossing it into the apartment’s lobby trash can. He stares at the cover, all four boys dressed in varying degrees of expense— Hanamaki and Matsukawa in what almost looks like linen, Oikawa in attire that could be regal, Iwaizumi in a crisp white button down. All four are sitting around an empty throne staring away from the camera, the words _Dragon Boy_ burnt above their heads. Hinata's breath catches, because despite seeing this picture before, it's a thousand times different when it's in his hands.  

Practically sprinting to his apartment, Hinata unlocks the door, careful not to disturb Kenma as he kicks off his shoes, socks, and pants, collapsing into his bed with the CD in hand. Grabbing his laptop from the nightstand beside him, he opens up the case, a slip of paper falling out onto his lap as he does so. Curiously, Hinata picks it up, unfolding it to read the cursive scrawl on the page.

_To you, Hinata Shouyou._

_Because it wouldn't be possible if not for you._

And Hinata feels the pinpricks of tears in his eyes, the tying of the knot in his throat. He slips the disc into the laptop's CD port, plugs his best headphones in, and hits play.

There's a few moments of silence as the CD is processed, long enough for Hinata to almost worry that something went wrong. All anxieties are pushed from his mind the moment he hears the low drone of bass, opening up the first song.

And suddenly, he’s sixteen again, in his childhood bedroom with his eyes closed, staying up until the early hours of the morning to be the first to hear the music. Matsukawa’s reads rap like poetry, spins a mood in five words as he begins the song, something big, something bold. Hinata lets his head hit the pillow, hears the familiar lilt in Iwaizumi’s voice as he sings, hears Oikawa shining clear through the harmonies.

He's not sixteen— he's in Tokyo, he's in a Givenchy shirt and not much else, listening to the people he once idolized and now call friends and something more, listening to them sing about something shimmering and bright and _beautiful._ He hears them in the lyrics, hears the innuendos Matsukawa managed to spin into the song without protest, hears the smiles and the labour and the echoing sounds that Oikawa loves to produce.

He loves them, loves them like he loves every word they sing, loves them like the morning sunrise and good music on the bus ride home. Hinata remembers listening to them record and rerecord and write, hears the background noises that were smoothed out purely out of memory.

So he listens, wraps himself up in crescendos and melodies and heartstrings pulled deep into his chest. Somehow, it means more to him than any gift he's gotten before, any paycheque or large sum, list of zeros at the end of a number. Listening to their pride, their joy, their livelihood and everything they put into it makes everything else feel small in comparison, and Hinata isn’t sure if it's because he's so far gone or because he’s still a little starstruck even after all this time.

He's in love, after all.

So Hinata fights drooping eyelids and heavy limbs, only succumbs to the will to sleep after the final songs drifts off into nothingness, the dull noise of the CD whirring being the only other sound. Hinata dreams with the memory of guitar lessons and dances and recording studios, dreams with the fantasy of lullabies and love songs and lips against his own.

—

**_DRAGON BOY: ENTER THE KINGDOM OF SEIJ-OH_ **

_Boy group seij-OH! climbed both Japan and international charts last night with their release of their fifth full length studio album_ Dragon Boy _, titled after their single. The album sits at number one on iTunes after having a surprise release date, the production being very secretive and kept under wraps._

 _The album starts off with a poetic intro via Matsukawa Issei, the group’s main rapper. We’re introduced to a motif of sorts_ — _the dragon, which reappears in the single track. Backed up with stellar vocals on Oikawa’s part, there is no ease into the album this time._

 _This album, while showcasing a more mature side to seij-OH’s music, did manage to retain much of their trademark charm in songs such as_ Believe, Green, _and_ Front _. The apex is at the title track,_ Dragon Boy _, which has an accompanying short film/music video to go along with it. Sensual sounds, steady bass and cold electric guitar create an atmosphere not often explored in pop music._

 _Perhaps the most hauntingly beautiful song on the album is one named_ Tangerine, _a love songs of sorts with twisted longing and soft guitar, shimmering echoes and sampled beats from a popular 90s hip hop track. While being one of the last songs on the album, it's able to raise questions onto every listener: Who is_ Tangerine _about? Are they a good person? Why does the narrator care so much for someone who, quote, “can't see?”_

 _In total,_ Dragon Boy _proves to be one of the most acclaimed seij-OH albums yet, and for good reason. The album is available now digitally, on CD, and vinyl, and can be purchased through their website. Choose to listen? Tell us your interpretation in the comments below!_

 

_comments _

 

justseijhoe: imcry in i cant believe the beusty

 

19383dragonboy: THAT MUSIC VIDEO!!! SENSUAL MY ASS U SAW MATSUKAWA ISSEIS MOUTH ON HIS BOYFRIEND LIKE THAT JUST LIKE I DID CALL IT WHAT IT IS: S E X U  A L

 

mxstxkxwx000: im….. honestly blown away by the imagery and sheer emotion… theorists wyd tell me what this means

 

tangerinemaki: @mxstxkxwx000 im getting a lot of 7 deadly sin vibes?

 

iwachvn: @tangerinemaki @mxstxkxwx000 i really think its less dark than that, the only reason why people keep calling it twisted is because of the visuals and haunting manner (minor/diminished chords out the wazoo, way 2 be emo oikawa) but really if you read the lyrics they almost sound like a call of love… maybe in desperation or fondness or longing but no argument can be made against these being anything but love songs

 

oikawaking-s: I am loving this sound though, not sad but more serious than the last album… they never do the same thing twice!!

—

_kenma :3: i dont know if kuroo told you, but ill be there tonight with him_

_kenma :3: and im giving you and your boys space_

_hinata!!!: you don’t have to //////_

_hinata!!!: AAND THEY ARENT MY BOYS_

_kenma :3: not yet, and thats why im doing it_

_hinata!!!: awwwwwww ur such a wingman_

_kenma :3: yeah yeah, go get ready. good luck tonight. youll do great_

_hinata!!!: thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! for everything!!!!!!!!!!_

—

Hinata wasn’t sure what to expect from the _Comme Des Gar_ _ç_ _on’s_ walk. The practices are just as strict and serious as any other runway he’s done, the fittings three times as nerve wracking, but something almost _familiar_ hums around him as he stands still for the altercations of each of the two outfits he’s walking.

He isn’t sure why— the venue is a beautiful hotel with huge arches, regal pillars and columns, crystal chandeliers twinkling down from cathedral ceilings. Expensive art hangs from every wall, and in the cleared out room they use for a changing/backstage area is antique furniture worth almost as much as the fabric they wear.

Hinata _loves_ the two looks chosen for him— a red piece, shredded and embedded with roses, and a white slip, with a delicate full face veil. The altercations were last minute, worrying to most after the shoulders kept slipping off of Hinata’s slight frame, but as he stands, the last finishing touches being made, he can’t think that anything could really turn out wrong with the garments.

It doesn’t change the fact that he’s anxious. Not by a long shot. _Comme Des Gar_ _ç_ _ons_ is an internationally acclaimed brand, and to be not only walking for them, but attending a dinner party with attendees with world renowned names that will soon know his face is a dream in reality.

Kuroo hasn’t said it, but this is the biggest chances to further Hinata’s career yet.

But, more than anything, Hinata is excited, excited to have the eyes of the four people he's in love with follow his every move, to have them see and watch and _admire_ him. He loves their attention, wants to feel their pride, wants to spend the party at their sides.

“What’cha thinkin’ about?” Alisa says, knocking Hinata out of his skin. “Your boys?”

Hinata whips around to face her. “They aren’t— I'm not—” he stammers.

Alisa laughs, taking a step back. “Keep telling yourself that!”

Hinata shakes his head, praying the blush wears off before the show starts. Alisa is dressed in a white dress, with a mesh chest and torso piece and a flowing, circle skirt. It's the shoes that that draw the attention, blood red, crossing all the way up her thighs. She towers above Hinata even more than usual, her long, silvery blonde hair straightened and drifting down her side. It's incredibly intimidating, but Hinata is used to being dwarfed when beside her.

“Are you excited?” Hinata asks her, switching the topic away from him. “You've worked with Comme Des Garçons before, right?”

“Oh, I'm ecstatic,” Alisa says, eyes widening. “My girlfriend is here, and I am _so_ ready for her to see me in this.”

Hinata giggles at her glee. “Do I get to meet her?” he asks, curious to meet the person he’s heard so much about.

“Oh definitely! You just have to introduce me to your boys and we’re all good,” she says, catlike smile spreading across her face as Hinata’s blush only gets deeper.

Suddenly, there’s a shout above all of the idle chatter, warning everyone to get in position and be ready for showtime in five minutes. Hinata wishes Alisa luck in a daze, making his way back towards the little faux backstage area where an intern fixes the lace veil around his face, obscuring his view slightly as it covers his eyes. It’s nothing short of terrifying to be hardly able to see where he’s going, but Hinata knows he did well in practice, knows he can do it again on the runway.

So, as the music starts and the applause begins, Hinata takes a deep breath, rolls out his shoulders, and gets to work.

It’s neither a traditional setting nor an easy one Hinata’s used to. People sit at circular tables throughout the hall, turned around in their chairs, filming and taking pictures as the models walk between and around each table. Hinata takes his time, keeps his head up and his back straight, doesn’t let his eyes stray until he reaches the centre of the room, or what would act as the front of the catwalk. From there, he lifts the veil to expose his face, having the luck to be nearly directly in front of the table where Matsukawa, Hanamaki, Iwaizumi, and Oikawa are sat.

Hinata focuses on them for a split second, see’s the twinkle in Oikawa’s eyes as he watches with such devotion, sees Hanamaki’s phone standing on the table, recording the whole thing as he watches intently, sees Iwaizumi’s face brighten when he notices Hinata looking straight at him. But most of all, Hinata notices Matsukawa, who, with hand resting in chin, looks at him with an emotion he can’t quite decipher within the time he has. With a soft look of what he hopes is nothing _too_ pining, Hinata turns on his heel and leaves, pout setting back into light features as he walks back the way he came, all at a steady pace until he reaches backstage.

The moment he’s passed the curtain, Hinata rushes to where the interns are to help him out of his outfit, three of them working to quickly get him out of the flowing, white robe and into the shredded red piece. It’s hectic, and it’s a faster change than Hinata’s used to, leaving him in varying degrees of nakedness as his shoes are changed and the rose garment is pulled over his head.

As he heads back to the lineup to go out again, a makeup artist fixes his lipstick, smudging eyeshadow quickly on his lids, ruffling his hair in a last minute attempt to make it look less flat from being under the veil. Miraculously, it works, and she leaves with a nod moments before Hinata steps out again.

This time, he sees everything. The camera’s, flickering in the orange light, the faces, all watching, all eyes following him as he walks between tables, focus straight ahead. This outfit is a thousand times more bold than the last, with shredded fabrics embedded with rose, red boots complimenting the colour of everything down to his lips. He holds himself high, makes himself seem bigger, takes long strides with a steely gaze and half parted lips.

And then he’s back at the front, standing in something worth a hundred thousand yen, winking at the stunned faces of some of the most famous musicians in Japan. Before Hinata can turn away, he memorizes their looks of shock, of Oikawa’s clear blush as he covers his mouth in shock, at Iwaizumi’s ears giving away how much he’s reddened, and of course, at Hanamaki fanning himself. But nothing prepares him for Matsukawa to look him dead in the face and blow a kiss, bedroom eyes and turned up lips and all.

Hinata is lucky he’s on autopilot right then and there, turning around and heading backstage before the shock catches up to him. He takes a second to catch his breath, chest fluttering with adrenaline and fawning as he steadies himself in time for bows. It takes all of his energy to keep himself grounded, to blink away that _look_ that’s burned into his retinas as everyone walks back out to the centre, waving and smiling to take their bows. Hinata’s on the opposite side of the room, unable to make eye contact with them again as everyone applauds before they’re sent backstage to change.

Hinata does his best not to collapse seconds after being in the dressing room, going through the motions of removing his shoes and handing them back to the intern, standing still as the many layers are removed.

It’s mind numbingly indescribable to explain how he feels as he takes his formal clothes— a pale pink button up with intricate floral designs in black, and ebony, slim fit pants— and dresses back up for what he hopes is the last time that night. There’s no rush, but Hinata still takes haste, wanting to see those four at the table again, wanting to sit down with them and hear what they were thinking. He doesn’t even bother to change his makeup or make his hair seem a little less ruffled, not even slowing down to pull on his shoes.

Hinata approaches the main entrance to the hall, following the others who have slowly started to make their ways in. Most of the models are sat at tables near the back of the room as not to disrupt anyone when they come back in, but Kuroo was able to write Hinata’s name down separately so that he could sit with his friends instead.

When he enters, all eyes aren’t on him like when he was on the runway, demanding everybody’s attention. People drink as they talk, laughing as food is served, not sparing him a second glance as if not to acknowledge how they’ve seen him minutes before. Hinata slips through the tables to where he spots the only four people _really_ watching, following him as if this is still the runway, waving and beckoning him into the empty seat beside Matsukawa.

“Shou-chan!” Oikawa exclaims, nearly standing up out of his seat, leaning across the table. “Oh my— you were fantastic!”

“How could you even see out of that?” Hanamaki asks, shaking his head. “Seriously, you come in all angelic and soft and beautiful, then _bam_ , it’s all guns and roses and sex hair and _winking._ Way to kill a man.”

Hinata blushes furiously, taking his seat and a long gulp of his water. “I’m— just— ah, thank you,” he says, not knowing how to respond to the praise.

“You did so well, I was blown away,” Iwaizumi tells him, genuine in praise. “The menu was preset, by the way. Your food should be coming soon— we asked them to hold it so it wouldn’t get cold.”

Hinata’s taken aback by Iwaizumi’s trademark thoughtfulness, smiling, opening his mouth to thank him only for Matsukawa to drape an arm over his shoulders.

“I think the red outfit was the best one I’ve seen. Out of the whole show and ever,” he says. Looking towards Hinata, he smirks. “The lipstick is a nice touch, I love the colour on you. Contrasts your eyes.”

 _You’re one to talk about eyes,_ Hinata thinks, a strangled noise being the only thing that leaves his throat in response. Matsukawa raises one brow like he’s read Hinata’s mind, holds his gaze with those cool brown eyes before slowly blinking and looking away, not removing the arm that rests on Hinata’s shoulders.

Hinata is saved from having to form words when his food arrives, set on the table by a kind faced waiter who congratulates him on the show before asking him about drinks. Oikawa takes the favour of ordering for him, the waiter nodding and leaving towards the bar in a few moments.

“Thanks,” Hinata says to Oikawa, who smiles, shrugging his shoulders.

“I got you what I got— you’ll like it. Now eat, you’ve got to be starving.”

Hinata doesn’t argue on that point, quickly scarfing down his meal with as much etiquette as he can muster. Matsukawa’s arm _finally_ moves from his shoulders, and secretly, Hinata misses the contact. He’s distracted enough by his meal not to think about it too much. No one else at the table is finished yet, eating with Hinata after he begins. It’s fortunate, that way he isn’t the only one at the table awkwardly eating while the others sit and wait.

The portions are small— _rich people food,_ Hinata thinks— but it’s filling and more than he’s managed to eat all day, so he doesn’t complain. Somehow, he manages to finish at the same time as everyone else, laying back in his plush chair, finally getting the chance to try what Oikawa ordered him as they wait for plates to be taken away.

“Seriously Hinata, I don’t know how you didn’t trip,” Hanamaki says, face reading pure confusion. “Like, I don’t mean it in insult to you skills, I mean you were walking between tables with a linen sheet on your head. Could you even see?”

Hinata giggles into his drink— it’s sweet and bubbly, tastes like grapefruit and slips down his throat dangerously easy. “I could see! To be honest, I was scared, but I think I was better off than some of the people with like, capes and long hems. Now _that’d_ make me trip.”

“Would it really, though?” Oikawa asks. “Shou-chan, you’re being modest here. I think you could model anything.”

“He’s not lying, I agree,” Iwaizumi adds, taking a sip of his own drink.

Hinata flushes, turning his cheek away to tip more of the bubbly cocktail into his mouth. As he does so, he feels a hand rest on his thigh, raising Hinata’s body temperature instantly by a few degrees. Hinata looks up at Matsukawa, who only peers at him out of the corner of his eye, that look returning as he squeezes lightly, taking a sip of his own drink before replying.

“Hinata, you really did look gorgeous,” Matsukawa says. “Those clothes— they look like they were made for you. Are you going to keep that red rose jacket?”

Hinata takes another sip of his drink, tearing his eyes away from Matsukawa’s hand. “I— er— I would love it if I could, but no,” Hinata chokes out, trying not to seem too worked up. “I’d buy it but—” He laughs lightly. “It’s a little above what I can reasonably justify.”

Matsukawa cocks his head, humming. “Oh. Well, I can get it for you then.”

Hinata shakes his head, flickering his eyes from Matsukawa’s face to his hand to the tablecloth. “No, you don’t have to—”

“Mm, but I want to,” Matsukawa says, rubbing circles on Hinata’s thigh with the pad of his thumb. It distracts Hinata from any protest as their plates are taken away and their drinks are refreshed— Hinata not even realizing he had drained his.

From across the table, Hinata watches Hanamaki reach for another glass, only for Iwaizumi to absentmindedly slap away his hand while grabbing his own drink.

“Give yourself half an hour and another glass of water,” Iwaizumi tells him. “It’s too early for your antics.”

Hanamaki rolls his eyes in mock annoyance, grabbing his water and taking a sip instead. Hinata laughs slightly, Hanamaki smiling in response before Oikawa begins to giggle.

“Iwa-chan, not all of us can stand to be stone sober when we talk to people at parties,” Oikawa says, setting down his drink.

Iwaizumi sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Is it even worth it between you two?”

“None of you can handle your liquor,” Matsukawa says with a shake of his head, staring at Hinata as he sips his new drink. “Hey, you might wanna slow down too.”

Hinata blushes again, taking a small sip before setting his glass back down on the table, sighing slightly as Matsukawa’s hand moves down to his knee and back up again. It’s small enough that no one but him takes notice, Matsukawa simply smirking.

“Oh, can we stand up now?” Oikawa comments, noticing the people who have started to move around and mingle.

“Thank god, I need to stretch my legs,” Hanamaki says, stepping out of his chair. The rest follow suit, Hinata missing the hand on his thigh the moment it leaves. He’s soon to have his direction diverted when two women approach him, arm in arm, dressed to the nines with hair lavish and long.

On the left is a familiar face— inky black hair, pin straight and pulled back away from her face, soft features juxtaposed with sharp, knowing eyes. Hinata recognizes her as the former idol, Kotone. On her arm is a slightly taller woman, warm, chocolate hair curled around her face, cheshire cat grin so similar to Hinata’s boss’ that he immediately knows she has to be Kuroo’s other mother.

“Oh! You must be Hinata Shouyou, yes?” Kotone exclaims. She turns to the other four, eyes brightening. “And of course I know who you four are, seeing as you’re the best thing to come from HQ since I was there.”

Hinata bows quickly, not sure how to respond. “Ah, um— yes!” he stammers, jolting back upright to face her.

“Thank you, your praise means—” Oikawa starts, all politeness and poise only for Kotone to wave him off.

“Drop the manners, Oikawa, I’m not your boss,” she laughs.

Oikawa blinks, slightly taken aback before nodding with a charming smile. “Ah yes, of course. And you must be Yuuko, right? I’ve read about your nuclear physics and technology research, it’s really interesting.”

The brown haired woman smiles. “Ah, really? It’s not often someone actually knows my work offhand,” she says, flattered. “Did you get to any of the newer documents? I can explain a little of it, if you’d like.”

Oikawa perks up. “I’d enjoy that, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Matsukawa leans over to Hinata, lips growing close to his ear. “Look at him, all politeness and manners,” he whispers, snickering. “In reality he’s just excited he can be a nerd.”

Hinata giggles lightly, leaning away so not to let himself get carried away with the sound of his voice. Yuuko finishes explaining something to Oikawa that none of them were able to follow except him, excitement clear in both of their eyes as they talk about particles smaller than the dust in the air.

“Excuse me, I tend to get carried away,” Yuuko tells them. She turns to Hinata. “You were absolutely spectacular, I’m not sure how you managed to walk with that veil.”

“That’s what we’ve been saying,” Hanamaki tells her.

“It’s quite an outfit,” Kotone adds. “God, would you look at you all? All so handsome— Hinata, Tetsurou was lucky to sign you. He never _did_ tell us how that happened…”

Everyone collective laughs at the memory, Hanamaki leaning onto Matsukawa, who in turn leans onto Hinata.

“Well,” Hanamaki says. “It all started at this film festival Hinata’s dear friend Kenma was in, right? Hinata’s _actoral debut,_ if you will. It’s the after party, and everyone is having a good time, we’re congratulating Hinata because, honestly, we didn’t know he could do this? When all of a sudden, your _son_ bursts through the crowd like a rabid dog—”

“Sounds like him,” Yuuko chimes in.

“— and just grabs Hinata’s shoulders and blurts out _you’re beautiful and I want you_ to a complete stranger!”

“Oh, _no_ ,” a voice says from behind them. “You did _not_ just tell my mothers this story.”

“They did!” Kotone squeals. “Tetsurou, come here— do you have that boy with you? Kenma? You did say he was coming—”

Kuroo Tetsurou is roped in by his mothers, held around the shoulders by Yuuko as he stares Hanamaki down. “Hello, you five. Hinata, you did brilliantly, and people are begging to have you work with them—”

“Enough work talk, Tetsu,” Yuuko tells him.

Kuroo’s shoulders drop. “Yes, mom,” he sighs, lifting a smile onto his face. “Mama, did you tell them anything horrendously life ruining in the time you’ve been talking?”

“Oh, I would never,” Kotone says with a smirk, hand over heart. “But do tell me, where is this boy—”

“Mama!” Kuroo says, exasperated. “He’s just getting drinks.” He clears his throat, looking towards the five of them. “Excuse my lovely, lovely parents. I’m going to lead them away, now. Have a good time!” With that, he turns them around pushing them in the opposite direction.

“Oh, Tetsu, is Hinata dat—”

“ _Mom_!”

Hinata blinks in surprise, looking at the other four in shock and confusion. Hanamaki and Oikawa aren’t even trying to stifle their laughter, Iwaizumi rolling his eyes as they leave. Matsukawa looks down at Hinata raising his brows as if to ask _and that’s your boss?_

“Is there anyone you wanna talk to before we inevitably get swept away by business?” Iwaizumi asks, looking around the hall.

“Oh!” Hinata shouts, remembering his promise to Alisa. “I do have one model-friend who wanted to meet you— c’mon, I _think_ she’s this way.”

Hinata leads the four through the hall, towards a rather rowdy table at the side of the room. There’s quite a lot of people crowded around it, but two girls stick out, one perched precariously on the other’s knee. Hinata waves towards Alisa, grabbing the person closest to him— who turns out to be Iwaizumi— and bringing them all forwards.

“Oh, Hinata! You brought your boys!” she calls out, climbing out of the lap of the other girl. Her chest is now completely covered in a glittery silver dress, high necked and slim fitting, with a slit up the side of her leg. She pulls the other girl up to strand with her, grinning at them all.

“They aren’t my boys!” Hinata hisses, face heating up. Behind him, Matsukawa and Hanamaki look at each other, twin looks of smugness mirrored on their faces.

“Yeah, yeah, you gonna introduce me?” she asks, placing a hand on her hip.

Hinata clears his throat, taking a deep breath. “Alisa, meet Iwaizumi, Oikawa, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki,” Hinata says, powering through his own embarrassment at her calling them _his boys_ , presenting the four to them. “And you four, meet Alisa Haiba.”

“I have heard so, so much about you all,” Alisa says, bowing quickly. She motions to the girl next to her— a blonde, short haired woman in a tight fitting black suit, eyeliner sharp, eyes wild. “This is my girlfriend, Tanaka Saeko. You know her from her racing, probably.”

Saeko focuses on Oikawa, who was in the process of whispering something excitedly to Iwaizumi. “You modelled for the Lexus commercial, huh?” she asks. “I saw you ‘nd Hinata in it, you did pretty well. Thanks for covering me— I _hate_ doing promotional ads, and the company was stingy on who else could do it.”

“Ah, it’s no problem!” Oikawa says. Hinata can tell by the way his back straightens that he’s intimidated by her, despite him standing a head taller. “And Alisa, you did very well on the runway today.”

“Mm, thank you, but Hinata was the real show stopper, don’t you think?” Alisa asks, sending Hinata a quick wink before slipping an arm on her girlfriend’s shoulders.

“Yes, I think we can _all_ agree on that,” Oikawa says, looking over to Hinata with a warm smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you two.”

“Oh, trust me, the pleasure is mine,” Alisa tells them. “Hinata, excuse us, we need to get drink refills. Open bar— you _know_ I’m gonna one up these suckers.”

“I’ll see you!” Hinata tells them as Saeko huffs in fond annoyance, turning her attention to her girlfriend.

“Hey!” Saeko exclaims, looking up at Alisa. “Just because you’re half russian doesn’t mean I can’t drink you under the table!”

Alisa hums, bending down to kiss Saeko’s cheek before skipping off, throwing one last wave over her shoulder as Saeko trails after her, wishing them a quick goodbye before jogging to catch up.

There’s a beat of silence before Matsukawa looks at Hinata, grinning mischievously. “So, you boys—”

“Ah, Hinata Shouyou? May I speak with you for a moment?” a voice says from behind. Hinata swivels around to face an older woman in a rather nice dress, who smiles politely through full cheeks. “It’s about your walk today— I was wondering if you’d be interested in my client’s line.”

“Um, yes, sure of course,” he says, somewhat unsure what to say. He turns back to the four, bottom lip caught between teeth. “Do you mind? I’ll catch up with you all later.”

“Of course, Shou-chan,” Oikawa chimes, brushing a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll see you,” Iwaizumi tells him, smiling softly before following Oikawa on his leave.

“Don’t be too long,” Hanamaki says.

“And don’t miss us too much,” Matsukawa adds, winking before turning to leave Hinata with the agent.

From there, it’s more business than pleasure. It’s brain killing, the boring attitude of it all, the fake manners, the posture, the questions Hinata doesn’t quite know how to answer and the annoying ulterior motives most people seem to have. Hinata says the same thing about twenty times to five different people— _I’ll think about it, but you’re better off talking about scheduling with Kuroo Tetsurou, my manager_ — like some kind of broken record stuck on repeat.

He just wants to get back to the others, get back to playful teasing and fond jests and arms around his waist. Whenever he looks their way, they’re always surrounded by a crowd— and of course they are. They’re superstars with a brand new album topping the charts, charming personalities and pretty faces for every photo-op needed. They dance around each other in plain sight, catching gazes and staring across the room until Hinata really can’t spot them anymore, already being approached by someone else with a plastic smile and a proposal.

Hinata wanders through the crowds, looking idly through the room for familiar faces. Eventually, his gaze drifts upwards to the balconies, spotting Oikawa, leaning against the rail, looking bored out of his mind as he speaks to an ancient business man in a pin striped, out of season suit. Hinata laughs a little to himself at how fed up Oikawa looks as the man turns away for a moment, giving him the time to look down onto the main floor. He spots Hinata quickly, eyes meeting with a spark of relief. Oikawa smiles at him, waving with one hand as he uses the other to tip his glass into the air in mock toast, taking a sip before being drawn back into the world of polite manners. Hinata watches him put on his masquerade of a gentleman who _wants_ to talk, the one he’s obliged to uphold.

With a sigh, Hinata realizes that everyone has likely become too spread out to bother looking for. Slowly, he makes his way to the edge of the room, singing _Tangerine_ under his breath as he finds a chair next to a fern to sit down in. The room seems a lot more lively from afar, bustling like some kind of renaissance painting showcasing people in the finest wear and most luxurious jewelry. He people watches for awhile— picks out a girl with what looks like a ball gown from the crowd and mentally commends her bravery— before resorting to simply preparing himself for the next person to ask for his time.

“You know, I’ve always loathed this networking shit.”

Hinata jumps, turning his head so fast he could have whiplash. Matsukawa materialized from nothing, leaning against the wall beside him in his velvet suit coat and gold spiked shoes, looking like the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. In his hands are two glasses of that pink drink, one extending towards him.

“You looked like you needed company. And a drink,” he adds. Noticing the way Hinata eyes them, he chuckles. “Don’t worry— it’s virgin. I find these sorts of nights a bit better if you can actually remember them.”

“Thank you,” Hinata says, taking the drink from his hand. Matsukawa leaves his arm outstretched, offering him a hand up that Hinata gladly takes. His hand is small in Matsukawa’s, his grip steady as he stands him up, hand slipping from his and down to the small of his back.

“So, beautiful—” Hinata blushes at Matsukawa’s choice of words. “—I’m guessing you don’t like these sorts of things either.”

Hinata hums in agreement, taking a drink from his glass. “I don’t know _anything_ they’re talking about— this is not my area.”

Matsukawa guides him through the hall, looking at him through the side of his eyes. “It’s fucking boring if you ask me,” he says. With his free hand, he motions towards a lady with a bun so tight her face looks lifted. “That woman tried to talk me into a sponsorship,” he tells him. “I don’t remember a thing she said.”

Hinata wants to laugh, but the amount of people in the room is a little too daunting to make light of in the moment. His face feels hot, and not just from the touch of Matsukawa's hand, but from the overwhelming amount of exertion of this day alone. In that moment, he wants nothing than to escape from the party, to get away from the fake smiles and find something real.

“Hey,” Matsukawa says, stopping to face him straight on. “You wanna go someplace a little more quiet?”

Hinata’s heart stutters, beats double time, _tha thump tha thump tha_ —

“Yes,” he tells him, barely above a whisper. “Please.”

It’s every bit of permission Matsukawa needs to nod, leading him through the main entrance, past the staircase and down an ornate hall, empty, marble floors echoing their footsteps as they walk. The moment they leave, Hinata’s shoulders drop, but Matsukawa keeps walking, guides him to a little half opened door near the turn in the hallway and pushes it open, revealing a few couches and a table and no one inside.

“After you, babe,” he says, holding open the door for Hinata to enter through, shutting it with a soft _click_ behind them.

Hinata exhales heavy, closing his eyes and rolling out his shoulders. He can drop his posture here, can undo another button on his shirt and let himself breathe a little easier— or as easy as possible with Matsukawa here, watching him with careful eyes, tongue grazing over his lips.

“T-thanks for leaving with me,” Hinata stutters, not sure if he should address how they’re so close despite having an entire room to themselves. Matsukawa hums, brushes his hair from his face and drops his arm so that it can rest on Hinata’s hip. Hinata lets himself admit that he _loves_ it.

“Thank you for giving me a reason to leave,” Matsukawa says, voice low, quiet. There's a few beats of silence as they stand close, nearly in an embrace, Hinata’s eyes caught upwards, directly at Matsukawa’s.

“You know,” Matsukawa tells him, hand moving back up to caress Hinata’s cheek. “I’m not lying or kidding when I say you’re spectacular. You are, and I’d gladly buy you that jacket— not that you need it to look good, of course.”

Hinata blushes, turning his head away only for Matsukawa to tilt his gaze back towards him.

“Don’t be shy,” he teases, corners of his lips lifting. “You really are gorgeous Hinata, and I am very, very weak.”

Hinata’s brain short circuits, 404 errors flashing behind his eyes as his lips part, eyes flickering between Matsukawa’s lips and his eyes. “Y-you’re— I’m— you’re very nice too,” Hinata stammers, cursing himself at his attempt at compliment. “You’re really, really good.”

“Oh? Hinata, you flatter me,” Matsukawa tells him, voice dropping lower, like a whisper, sending a chill down Hinata’s spine.

Involuntarily, Hinata’s eyes flutter shut for a moment before reality snaps them back open, causing him to see the desire hidden in Matsukawa’s eyes.

“Has anyone told you you have sunlight in your laugh?” Matsukawa asks. “Or that your smile— your _smile,_ Hinata— it could bring me to my knees.”

Matsukawa steps closer, but their bodies are already nearly flush, backing Hinata against the rich wallpaper of the room. It sends a small _oof_ through Hinata’s body that he can’t help but ignore, too caught up in how his chest is pulling forwards, in how one of Matsukawa’s arms has moved to rest beside his head and cage him in.

They’re so close, Hinata breathing Matsukawa’s exhale as their noses brush, eyes blinking slow, fluttering like butterfly kisses against cheeks as they stare, Matsukawa leaning low, tilting Hinata’s chin upwards so that their faces are somewhat level. He’s so _tall,_ taller than any of the others, drawing Hinata in closer like some kind of warped gravity. Hinata’s stomach implodes, chest rising high into his throat with every hitched breath as he closes his eyes fully, giving into Matsukawa’s touch, the slow and steady hum that reverberates through their bodies as he draws closer, and _closer,_ until—

The door is thrown open, Matsukawa not moving, but Hinata’s head whipping to face the man who entered. It’s someone neither recognize, clearly drunk, glasses askew, leaving with a quick _whoops, sorry!_ as he shuts the door and effectively wrecks what could’ve been the best goddamn moment of Hinata Shouyou’s life. With a pout, Hinata turns to pull away, only for Matsukawa’s hand to catch his chin.

“Oh, fuck no,” he mumbles, before pulling Hinata’s face closer, swooping down and pressing their lips together.

Hinata’s first thought is, _wow, he’s a good kisser._

His second thought is, _holy shit, Matsukawa Issei is kissing me._

Hinata can’t even bring himself to freeze in shock, falling into Matsukawa’s rhythm like he was meant to be there. Matsukawa kisses like he raps, with passion, with tongue, with force and gentle touches all at the same time. Hinata sighs heavy through his nose, reaching his hands upwards to thread through Matsukawa’s hair as he bites down on his lip, dragging it out before making a low noise of surprise at Hinata's action.

It’s a little wet, all things considered. It’s messy and it’s fast, and Matsukawa drags his tongue against his teeth and against his own, lets the hand that isn’t still cradling Hinata’s face wander up and down his side, choosing a resting place close to the curve of his ass. Hinata drinks in the kiss like an addict drinks aged wine, curses himself for not having this sooner and savours the moment of having the thing he _craves_ against his lips, in his hair, moving warm and with determination against his mouth.

Hinata whines when Matsukawa pulls away, ready to retaliate or protest or _something_ when lips reconnect at his jaw, pulling a choked _oh_ from his lips as Matsukawa leaves open mouthed, hot and heavy kisses along his jaw. Hinata tilts his neck in encouragement, tugging a little harder at his hair and earning another noise from Matsukawa in response. Hinata’s breath shudders, his head falling back against the wall with a slight _thud_ as his lips part. Matsukawa moves to where his jaw meets his neck, leaves sloppy kisses down his jugular, and pauses midway down to brush his tongue and teeth to the skin.

Hinata doesn’t expect him to kiss with more force, doesn’t expect him to suckle on the skin at his neck, but there’s very little about this night he’s expected. It feels like static in his brain, feels like shame thrown out the window as his back arches, Matsukawa kissing and sucking his neck in a way that’s sure to leave some kind of mark. Hinata can’t even bring himself to care, too lost in the sensation and the moment, too lost in the feeling of soft, raven hair between his fingers and warm breath sending chills across his skin as Matsukawa licks the fresh mark, moving back up to kiss Hinata’s lips again.

It’s a little more languid this time, one of Hinata’s hands moving from Matsukawa’s hair to lay slack over his shoulder as he kisses him, _kisses him_ , tongue lulling slow against his, drawing in and out breaths like an orchestra, like a constant game of push and pull that Matsukawa conducts.

It’s with another _click_ that the door opens, a familiar voice ringing out over the sounds of heavy breaths.

“Oh, _here_ you guys are—” Oikawa starts only to freeze completely at the sight in front of them. “Hey— what the _hell!”_

Matsukawa breaks the kiss, straightening slightly but still caging Hinata against the wall. “Oh, hey,” he rasps, nodding in acknowledgement to Oikawa as it finally dawns on Hinata what the _fuck_ is happening.

He kissed Matsukawa, and Oikawa walked in and saw, and now—

“Mattsun! Oh my— Hinata, I’m— is that a _hickey_ ? Oh my _god,_ Mattsun _please_ let me—” Oikawa fumbles over his words, in shock at the sight in front of him. A strangled noise rises from his throat at the sight of Hinata, swollen lips, spit shined, red lipstick smeared and smudged faintly across Matsukawa, the mark on his neck reddening by the second.

Before anyone can say anything else, Hanamaki and Iwaizumi make their way into the room, both equally as stunned, but Iwaizumi with the mind to shut and _lock_ the door behind him as they enter. Hinata sees stars, sees warning signs as he feels his temperature reach fever highs as a deep blush travels from his ears down his shoulder, completely aware how much of a wreck he must be.

“Isseeiii,” Hanamaki draws out playfully, making his way over to where Hinata is _still_ pinned against the wall, placing something down on one of the tables. “You had your turn.”

Hinata blinks, confused as to what the _hell_ is going on. Matsukawa tries to roll his eyes, but fondness wins out, and he leans back, releasing Hinata from his hold only for Hanamaki to lean down and kiss Hinata himself.

And oh, this was _not_ what Hinata was expecting.

Hanamaki kisses quick, kisses fast, kisses like a dance Hinata somehow knows the steps to. He’s a little tense— a _lot_ tense— not sure where to put his hands or what to do besides tentatively move with him, mind still clouded and full as Hanamaki rests a hand on his shoulder, kisses with a swipe of his tongue against his lips.

Hanamaki pulls away, stares Hinata in the eye with a lazy smile as he traces a hand down his cheek, tapping him on the nose to Hinata’s surprise. He laughs, lightly, _brightly,_ before pulling away entirely and moving to stand beside Matsukawa, his _boyfriend,_ both their faces so _fond_ that Hinata isn’t sure if this is some kind of beautiful fantasy. Hinata sighs, loud, more out of lack of air than in any other emotion but confusion, lets the air he was holding fade from his lungs.

“Oh my— Makki, you too?” Oikawa asks, indignant as Iwaizumi moves towards Hinata, fixing his now very rumpled shirt.

“Hey you,” he says softly, licking his lips as he tilts Hinata’s chin towards him. “You could’ve told us if you wanted to leave.”

Hinata blanks, processing what had just been said. “I— um, I didn’t—”

Iwaizumi hums, combing rough fingers through his hair. “I guess it worked out in the end, though,” he comments, leaning down to press their foreheads together. “Do— do you mind?”

It takes a moment for Hinata to realize what he’s asking, and despite the very real confusion ever present in the room, Hinata shakes his head, whispers _please_ and relishes in the gentle touch of those calloused hands on his jaw.

Iwaizumi is gentle, so, so gentle for someone with such rough hands, with such a rough voice. He tethers Hinata, kisses sweetly, kisses like the first date and sunday mornings and _slow and steady wins the race._ He doesn’t rush, doesn’t bite— brushes his thumb against Hinata’s cheek as he kisses him, all saccharine, sugar sweet, milk and honey and maple syrup. Hinata sighs, dreams away some of the tension, some of the buzzing and the stomach twisting as Iwaizumi parts from him, slowly, leaving their foreheads pressed against one another’s before backing away. Hinata chases the contact for half a second, enough so that his back no longer rests against the wall.

Hinata wants to ask what’s happening, wants to wonder aloud if he’s dreaming or if this is a joke or if he’s in some kind of coma, but has no time to. Oikawa makes a noise that rings, a whine that sounds vaguely like _finally_ as he meets Hinata halfway, one arm cradling his head, the other wrapping around his waist as he brings his lips down on Hinata’s.

Hinata can’t think, can’t remember any questions besides _is this heaven_ as Oikawa embraces him, ebbs like the tide with his mouth working against his. Teeth clink in his haste, and their noses hit at an angle that hurts a little at first, but Hinata could never dream of complaining as Oikawa kisses him with the reverent passion of a preacher to a god, of a sailor to the sea, of one lover to another. He cradles Hinata, pulls him closer, _closer,_ bites his lip and kisses again and again and again, practically devouring him as if he were the last thing to keep him alive.

And Hinata _relishes_ in it, takes in his worship and reflects it, reaches over his shoulders and tugs Oikawa closer still, breathes him in and plays with the hair at the nape of his neck. Oikawa pulls his lip between his teeth— gentle, like he’s scared to hurt him, but with the care and love of someone with one thousand hearts. Hinata presses his tongue against Oikawa’s and sighs through his nose, aware of how long this has been happening but having none of the heart to let go of something so _good_ , something Oikawa doesn’t want to let end either.

But, like sailors or dolphins or desperate boys kissing with too much feeling, they have to come up for air, have to break apart long enough to stare each other in the eye, to touch their noses together and feel the salt water on their cheeks.

“I love you,” Oikawa confesses, breathes. “I really... _really_ fucking love you, Shouyou.”

And then Hinata remembers what’s happening, remembers there's three others in the room watching, remembers he has no idea what’s going on and they’re in a random room in a mansion that isn’t theirs and he’s red to the toes at Oikawa saying his name and—

“Shh,” Iwaizumi shushes, noticing Hinata’s panic. “Sit down, you’re processing a lot.”

“Mhm,” Hinata hums idly, following his direction and moving towards the plush couch. Iwaizumi places a hand on his shoulder as he walks by, sits on the edge next to him as Hinata flops down, kicking off his shoes and bringing his legs up onto the chair. There’s a few beats— one, two— before Hinata speaks again.

“Does— do you have water?” he asks, aware at how his lips have grown a little chapped, and his throat a little dry. Hanamaki nods, grabbing a bottle from the table— when did he put that there? Hinata wasn’t paying attention— and handing it to him to drink.

Hinata chugs it halfway, doesn’t even bother to stop when it crumples or when it gets over his chin. He closes the cap, drops it on the floor and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, the remnants of his lipstick washing off with the water, staining his hand red. He looks back up, heart beating loud in his ears, not sure what to say besides—

“I’m not sure this is real. I’m— I’m in love with you, _all_ of you, and then— and this— _this_ happens out of nowhere and I don’t— I’m not sure what I’m doing,” Hinata stammers. He looks from Iwaizumi to Oikawa, Matsukawa and Hanamaki, involuntarily gripping onto Iwaizumi’s hand like an anchor. “I thought— I thought I was some kind of third wheel, like I didn’t belong.”

“Shou,” Matsukawa sighs softly, something genuine shining through him. “You’re so far from a third wheel— can’t you see that?”

“We love you,” Hanamaki murmurs to him, gentle in his tone, cracking a smile. “Like, a lot. Like _a lot_ a lot.”

Hinata sniffs, blinking heavy before pressing against his eyes with the heel of his free hand. “God,” Hinata laughs. “I can’t believe this— I’m just—”

“It’s true,” Iwaizumi assures him, his own voice cracking slightly. “It’s one hundred percent true— I— _we—_ love you, care about you.”

“Shouyou,” Oikawa coos, kneeling down in front of him, resting his head on Hinata’s knee. “I am the most romantic person I know. I fall in love with sunny days and flowers I can never keep alive and minor third chord progressions because I’m a romantic— I love with my entire heart or not at all. And I saw you, all of you— the laughs and the smiles and the breaking and the way you don’t even take sugar in your tea— and I fell in love with it. With all of it, the good and the bad and the goddamn _beautiful_.”

Hinata chews the inside of his mouth, swallows the knot in his throat as tears pinprick his eyes. He isn’t sure where to look— Oikawa stares at him with such devotion, as if to venerate his entire being with the touch of his cheek to his thigh. He looks at those brown eyes, round and warm, looks at Matsukawa and Hanamaki, looks at Iwaizumi, looks at the ceiling and feels a smile split across his face.

“You’re crying,” Iwaizumi says, so quiet, as if not to wake a sleeping child. He swipes the tears from Hinata’s cheek, watches as Hinata shakes his head, smile only growing.

“I’m _happy_ ,” he sighs, looking towards them all. “I’m in love.” He looks down at Oikawa. “Oikawa, I—”

“Call me Tooru,” Oikawa says, words tumbling from his mouth. “Please.”

Hinata is taken aback, after everything still. He licks his lips— why is nervous for _this_ , of all things?— and does his best to meet Oikawa’s eyes.

“To—Tooru,” he tries, stuttering his words. “I love you.”

Oikawa takes a deep breath as if to steady himself, closing his eyes in a moment of silent adoration as Matsukawa hums, sitting on the couch on Hinata’s other side.

“You can call me Issei,” Matsukawa tells him. “Shouyou, will you call me Issei?”

Hinata’s insides flutter. “Issei,” he whispers, turning his head to look at him.

“Hi,” Matsukawa says back, smiling.

“Ohh, do me?” Hanamaki requests, sitting on the ground in front of Matsukawa, leaning his elbows onto the couch.

Hinata giggles at that— at Hanamaki’s insistence. “Takahiro,” he says, feeling how the name rolls off his tongue. “Takahiro.”

“Hiro is fine too,” Hanamaki tells him. “But I like— I like how Takahiro sounds. When you say it.”

Hinata flicks his eyes away, tucking his hair behind his ear as his smile widens and pulls on his cheeks. Slowly, he looks to the side, meeting Iwaizumi’s expectant eyes with a more gentle smile and a doe stare.

“Hajime…” he whispers, so quiet and shy it’s almost inaudible.

And Iwaizumi _melts_ , drops whatever tension is held in his jaw and brings Hinata’s hands to his lips, kisses each knuckle while holding his gaze. Hinata’s chest grows lighter, tingling with some kind of angelic energy thriving off of the way he hums _Shouyou_ after he sets his hand back down.

It’s silent for a few moments, in the way that’s comfortable enough that it doesn’t demand speaking. Hinata leans over, rests his head on Matsukawa’s shoulder, mind still a loop of _I kissed him, I kissed them,_ as he steadies his breathing.

“So…” he asks. “What… what is this?”

Hanamaki shrugs. “I’m dating Matsukawa, and, if you want, we date you. And, you date Iwaizumi, but you also date Oikawa. And it’s kind of like... that,” he explains.

“We’re your boys,” Matsukawa teases.

“Boy _friends_ , technically,” Oikawa adds.

Hinata‘s blush returns, creeping down his neck as he groans. He buries his head into Matsukawa’s shoulder again, feels the rumble of his laughter as he smiles into the fabric of his clothes.

He loves them, he loves them.

Hinata looks up, stares Matsukawa in the eyes. Carefully, the latter places a gentle kiss on his lips, eyes barely closing before he pulls away. Oikawa sighs from where he sits, closes his eyes when Hinata runs a hand through his hair. Iwaizumi scooches closer, and Hanamaki lays his head on Matsukawa’s thigh so that he can stare up at Hinata. Hinata’s elation swells, grin spreads wide.

“D’you guys want to get out of here?” he asks.

“Yes,” four voices say at once.

_He loves them._

_They love him._

_He loves them._

_They love him._

_He loves them._

—

Chance is strange.

Hinata isn’t a gambler— never aspired to be one, never thought of the lifestyle as anywhere near glamourous. He likes risks, but plays it safe, keeps his heart in glass and holds too much anxiety on his chest. He doesn’t have a poker face, never understood blackjack— hell, he can barely play go fish.

But if Hinata believes in anything, he believes in fate, believes in luck of the draw, in playing your cards right. He watches his life become a success story you hear about in a soccer mom’s inspirational book for the soul, ends up in a place he never dared dream to be just over a year before.

Only, it isn’t just fate, and it’s not just chance. Hinata looks down at his hands, remembers those nights spent working, from cafés to runways, remembers all that time spent thinking and overthinking.

Chance isn’t the conductor. Hinata learns this when he’s listening to a song called _lights on!_ by a group that was once a whispered name on obscure blog forums somewhere on the internet. Oikawa likes to say that things happen for a reason, and maybe they do. Hinata likes to think he’s his own reason, thank you very much.

In the end, it was never luck. It was blood, sweat, tears, and a little bit of a push from the people who mattered. Flowers will be flowers from the time they’re a seed, but without water and sun, what are they?

( _Flowers don’t know they’re flowers,_ Hinata tells himself. _I didn’t know I was going to be a model_.)

“Shouyou?” a voice says. Hinata looks up from his note book, eyes brightening at the sight of Iwaizumi.

“Hey Iw— Hajime,” Hinata greets, catching himself.

Iwaizumi walks towards him, lying down on the bed next to him. Hinata makes no move to shield the page he was doodling in, exposing the little birds and daisies for him to see.

“ _Flowers don’t know they’re flowers,”_ Iwaizumi reads. “You know, Matsukawa’s the poet, but I’d say that’s pretty deep.”

“Mhm? Is it?” Hinata asks, tongue caught between teeth, smiling so wide because he’s _his._

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, smiling right back.

And Hinata kisses him, like it was meant to be, kisses him like mornings and like the first time. And he smiles, because he knows Oikawa will be home with a story and a rhythm stuck in his head, and he knows Hanamaki will stretch his dancers feet and lie next to him, and he knows Matsukawa will write that silly little line about flowers in the margin of his own notebook again and again.

Is that chance? Is that fate?

Hinata doesn’t care. He’s with the ones he loves, and that’s beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all good things must come to an end, and that end is here. but thankfully, the story must go on! there will be more to come in the future!! kj and i have a lot of other stories stacked up, and we're also planning on a bunch of sidefics for idol au as well (we both really love this au.)
> 
> thank you so much to everyone for your support and kind comments. we couldn't have done it without you guys. like, honestly, every single comment has absolutely made our day. we cant be thnakful enough. we love you guys.
> 
> feel free to yell at me (@mooksmookin or @mookarts, whichever floats your boat) or kj (@spacegaykj) on our respective tumblrs about idol au or any other au or anything really. we love hearing from you guys!! byebye for now!!!!


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